^1  nt 


r 


^  /-' 


MALkVY 


presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 

From  the  Estate  of 
Mrs.  Anna  L.  Bailhache 


Fq 


THI-:  ABBI-;  CONSTANTIN 


LUDOVIC    HALEVY 

OF    THi:    ACAUEMIt:    IKAN^AISE 


THE 

ABBE    CONSTANTIN 


II.I.tSTRATKI)    BY 

MADHLFJNl:  LhMAIRh 


M:\V  YORK 

DODD,  MHAl)  ANIJ  COMPANY 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PACK 

On  TiiF.  Terrack Frontispiece 

The  Domain  for  Sale, i 

The  Curb's  Garden, 7 

News  of  the  Sale 13 

The  Castle  of  Longleval 26 

Arrival  at  the  Vuara(,i..  ....      27 

Paii.ine  and  Jean, 39 

In  the  Garden, 43 

Mrs.  Scott  and  Bettina,         ....  47 

Dinner  at  the  Vicarage, 48 

Mrs.  Scott  Arranging  Betiina's  Hair,         .  5=; 

In  the  Cemetery, 69 

Bettina  Playing  the  Harmonium,  .        .  71 

The  Hundred  Louis,    ......       73 

At  the  Opera, 8r 

Jean's  Study .85 

The  Cur^  Praying,  ....  88 

"Mazette!"  .....  .89 

The  C(hNFF:ssioN,        ...  .  103 

Leaying  the  Railway  Station..  .         .107 

**Gooi)-BY,  my  Lovers!  ■'  ....  112 


VI 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


The  Drawing  Room  at  Longueval, 

Mrs,  Scott  and  her  Children, 

IBettina  at  the  Balcony,    . 

The  Ride.  .... 

The  F'irst  Tete-a-tete, 

Child  and  Pony, 

At  the  Ball,         .        . 

"  It  is  Raining  !  "     . 

Bettina's  Room,    . 

Rain  and  Wind, 

OOOD-BY  !  .  .  .  . 

Bettina  at  the  Vicarage, 

Will  it  be  Fine? 

The  First  Kiss, 

The  Wedding. 


"3 
125 
128 
130 
137 
140 
142 

155 
161 
167 
172 
174 
175 
T99 
201 


THE  ABBE  CONSTANTIN. 


CHAPTER   I. 


With  a  step  still  valiant  and  firm,  an  old  priest 
walked  along-  the  dusty  road  in  the  full  rays  of  a 
brilliant  sun.  For  more  than  thirty  years  the  Abbe 
Constantin  had  been  cure  of  the  little  village  which 
slept  there  in  the  plain,  on  the  banks  of  a  slender 
stream  called  La  Lizotte. 

The  Abbe  Constantin  was  walking  by  the  wall 
which  surrounded  the  park  of  the  castle  of  Longue- 
val  ;  at  last  he  reached  the  entrance  gate,  which 
rested  high  and  massive  on  two  ancient  pillars  of 
stone,  embrowned  and    gnawed  by  time.     The  cure 


2  TIIR   ABBE    COXSTAM'IX. 

stopped  and  mournfully  regarded  two  imuiense  blue 
posters  fixed  on  the  pillars. 

The  posters  announced  lluit  on  Wednesday,  May  i8, 
1881,  at  I  o'clock  P.  M.,  would  take  place,  before  the 
Civil  Tribunal  of  Souvigny,  the  sale  of  the  donuiin  of 
Longueval.  divided  into  four  lots. 

1.  The  castle  of  Longueval,  its  dependencies,  fine 
pieces  of  water,  extensive  of^ces,  ])ark  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  hectares  in  extent,  completely  surrounded 
by  a  wall,  and  traversed  by  the  little  river  Lizotte. 
Valued  at  six  hundred  thousand  fiancs. 

2.  The  farm  of  Blanche-Couronne,  three  hundred 
hectares,  valued  at  five  hundred  thousand  francs. 

3.  The  farm  of  La  Rozeraie,  tw'o  hundred  and 
fifty  hectares,  valued  at  four  hundred  thousand  francs. 

4.  The  woods  and  forests  of  La  Mionne,  containing 
four  hundred  and  fifty  hectares,  valued  at  five  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs. 

And  these  four  amounts  added  together  at  the  foot 
of  the  bill  gave  the  respectable  sum  of  two  millions  and 
fifty  thousand  francs. 

Then  they  w^ere  really  going  to  dismember  this 
magnificent  domain,  which,  escaping  all  mutilation, 
had  for  more  than  two  centuries  always  been  trans- 
mitted intact  from  father  to  son  in  the  family  of 
Longueval.  The  placards  also  announced  that  after 
the  temporary  division  into  four  lots  it  would  be  pos- 
sible to  unite  them  again,  and  offer  for  sale  the  entire 
domain  ;  but  it  w^as  a  very  large  morsel,  and  to  all 
appearance  no  purchaser  would  present  himself. 

The  Maiquise  de  Longueval  had  died  six  months 


THE   ABBE   CONSTAXTEV.  3 

before.  In  1873  she  had  lost  her  only  son,  Robert  de 
Longiieval  ;  the  three  heirs  were  the  oiandchildien  of 
the  marquise,  Pierre,  Helene,  and  Caniille,  It  had 
been  found  necessary  to  offer  the  domain  for  sale,  as 
Helene  and  Camille  were  minors.  Pierre,  a  young 
man  of  three-and-twenty,  had  lived  rather  fast,  was 
already  half  ruined,  and  could  not  hope  to  redeem 
Longueval. 

It  was  midday.  In  an  hour  it  would  have  a  new 
master,  this  old  castle  of  Longueval  ;  and  this  master, 
who  would  he  be .''  Wiiat  woman  would  take  the 
place  of  the  old  marquise  in  the  chimney-corner  of  the 
grand  salon,  all  adorned  with  ancient  tapestry — the 
old  marquise,  the  friend  of  the  old  priest  ?  It  was 
she  who  had  restored  the  church  ;  it  was  she  who  had 
established  and  furnished  a  complete  dispensary  at  the 
vicarage  under  the  care  of  Pauline,  the  cure's  ser- 
vant; it  was  she  who,  twice  a  week  in  her  great 
barouche,  all  crowded  with  little  children's  clothes 
and  thick  woollen  petticoats,  came  to  fetch  the  Abbe 
Constantin  to  make  with  him  what  she  called  "la 
chasse  aux  pauvres." 

The  old  priest  continued  his  walk,  musing  over  all 
this  ;  then  he  thoight,  too. — the  greatest  saints  have 
their  little  weaknesses.— he  thought,  too.  of  the  beloved 
habits  of  thirty  years  thus  rudely  interrupted.  Every 
Thursday  and  every  Sunday  he  had  dined  at  the  castle. 
How  he  had  been  petted,  coaxed,  indulged  !  Little 
Camille— she  was  eight  years  old— would  come  and  sit 
on  his  knee  and  say  to  him  : 

"You  know.  M.  le  Cure,  it  is  in  your  church  that 


4  THE  ABBE   CON  ST  A. V  TIN. 

I  mean  to  be  married,  and  grandmamma  will  send 
such  heaps  of  Howeis  to  fill,  quite  fill,  the  church — 
more  than  for  the  month  of  Mary.  It  will  be  like 
a  large  garden— all  white,  all  white,  all  while!" 

The  month  of  Mary  ;  it  was  then  the  month  of 
Mary.  Formerly  at  this  season  the  altar  disappeared 
under  the  fiowers  brought  from  the  conservatories  of 
Longueval.  None  this  year  were  on  the  altar,  except 
a  few  bouquets  of  lily-of-the-valley  and  white  lilac  in 
gilded  china  vases.  Formerly,  every  Sunday  at  high 
mass,  and  every  evening  during  the  month  of  Mar\-, 
Mile.  Hebert,  the  reader  to  Mme.  de  Longueval, 
played  the  little  harmonium  given  by  the  marquise. 
Now  the  poor  harmonium,  reduced  to  silence,  no 
longer  accompanied  the  voices  of  the  choir  or  the 
children's  hynms.  Mile.  Marbeau,  the  postmistress, 
would  with  all  her  heart  have  taken  the  place  of 
Mile.  Hebert,  but  she  dared  not,  though  she  was  a 
little  musical.  She  was  afraid  of  being  remarked  as 
of  the  clerical  party  and  denounced  by  the  mayor, 
who  was  a  Freethinker.  That  might  have  been 
injurious  to  her  interests  and  prevented  her  pro- 
motion. 

He  had  nearly  reached  the  end  of  the  wall  of  the 
prnk,  that  park  of  which  every  corner  was  known  to 
the  old  priest.  The  road  now  followed  the  banks  of 
the  Lizotte,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  little  stream 
stretche^d  the  fields  belonging  to  the  two  farms  ;  llien, 
still  farther  off,  rose  the  dark  woods  of  La  Mionne. 

Divided  !  The  domain  was  going  to  be  divided  ! 
The  heart  of  the  poor  priest  was  rent  by  this  bitter 


THE   ABBE   COX  STAN  TIN,  5 

thouglit.  All  that  for  thirty  years  had  been  insepa- 
rable, indivisible,  to  him  ;  it  was  a  little  his  own,  his 
very  own,  his  estate,  this  great  property.  He  felt  at 
home  on  the  lands  of  Longueval.  It  had  happened 
more  than  once  that  he  had  stopped  complacently 
before  an  immense  cornfield,  plucked  an  ear,  removed 
the  husk,  and  said  to  himself  : 

"Cornel  the  grain  is  fine,  firm,  and  sound.  This 
year  we  shall  have  a  good  harvest  !  " 

And  with  a  joyous  heart  he  would  continue  his  way 
through  his  fields,  his  meadows,  his  pastures — in 
short,  by  every  chord  of  his  heart,  by  every  tie  of  his 
life,  by  all  his  habits,  his  memories,  he  clung  to  this 
domain  whose  last  hour  had  come. 

The  abbe  perceived  in  the  distance  the  farm  of 
Hlanche-Couionne ;  its  red-tiled  roofs  showed  dis- 
tinctly against  the  verdure  of  the  forest.  There, 
again,  the  cure  was  at  home.  Bernard,  the  farmer  of 
the  marquise,  was  his  friend;  and  when  the  old  priest 
was  delayed  in  his  visits  to  the  poor  and  sick,  when 
the  sun  was  sinking  below  the  horizon,  and  the  abbe 
began  to  feel  a  little  fatigue  in  his  limbs  and  a  sensa- 
tion of  exhaustion  in  his  stomach,  he  stopped  and 
supped  with  Bernard,  regaled  himself  with  a  savory 
stew  and  potatoes,  and  emptied  his  pitcher  of  cider. 
Then,  after  supper,  the  farmer  harnessed  his  old 
black  mare  to  his  cart  and  took  the  vicar  back  to 
Longueval.  The  whole  distance  they  chatted  and 
quarrelled.  The  abbe  reproached  the  farmer  with 
not  going  to  mass,  and  the  latter  replied  : 

"The  wife  and   the   girls  ijo  for   me.     You    know 


6  THE  ABBE   CONSTANTIN. 

very  well,  M.  le  Cure,  that  is  how  it  is  with  us.  The 
women  have  enough  religion  for  the  men.  They  will 
open  the  gates  of  Paradise  for  us." 

And  he  added  maliciously,  while  giving  a  touch  of 
the  whip  to  his  old  black  mare: 

"If  there  is  one!  " 

The  cure  sprang  from  his  seat. 

"  What  !  if  there  is  one  ?  Of  a  certainly  ihere  is 
one." 

"Then  you  will  be  there,  M.  le  Cure.  You  say 
that  is  not  certain,  and  I  say  it  is.  You  will  be 
there  ;  you  will  be  there  at  the  gale,  on  the  watch  for 
your  parishioners,  and  still  busy  with  their  liille 
affairs;  and  you  will  say  to  St.  Peter— for  it  is 
St.  Peter,  isn't  it,  who  keeps  the  keys  of  Paradise.^  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  St.  Peter." 

"  Well,  you  will  say  to  him,  to  St.  Peter,  if  lie 
wants  to  shut  the  door  in  my  face  under  the  pretence 
that  I  did  not  go  to  mass— you  will  say  to  him  : 
*  Bah  !  let  him  in,  all  the  same.  It  is  Bernard,  one  of 
the  farmers  of  Mme.  la  Marquise,  an  honest  man. 
He  was  Common  Councilman,  and  he  voted  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  sisters  when  they  were  going  to  be 
expelled  from  the  village  school.'  That  will  touch 
St.  Peter,  who  will  answer:  'Well,  well,  you  n>ay 
pass,  Bernard,  but  it  is  only  to  please  M.  le 
Cure.'  For  you  will  be  M.  le  Cure  up  there,  and 
Cure  de  Longueval,  too,  for  Paradise  itself  would 
be  dull  for  you  if  you  must  give  up  being  Cure  de 
Longueval." 

Cure  de  Longueval !     Yes,  all  his   life  he  had  been 


77//-;   ABBE    COXSTAX  1 IX.  9 

nothing;  but  Cure  dc:  Longucval,  had  never  dieaiiied 
of  anyiUiny;  else,  liad  never  wisUeil  lo  be  anytliiiii^ 
else.  Three  or  four  times  excellent  livini^s,  wiih  one 
or  two  curates,  had  been  offered  to  him  ;  but  he  h.id 
always  refused  them.  He  loved  his  little  church,  his 
little  villayje,  his  little  vicarage.  There  he  had  ii  .dl 
to  himself,  saw  to  everythinj^  himself;  calm,  tranijuil, 
he  went  and  came,  summer  ami  winter,  in  sunshme 
or  storm,  in  wind  or  r.iin.  His  frame  became  h.nd- 
t^\\^y\  by  falii;ue  and  exposure  ;  but  his  soul  rem.iineil 
genilc.  tender,  and   pure. 

IIj  lived  in  his  vicara_<;e.  which  was  only  a  lar;;er 
laborer's  cotlaj^e  separated  from  the  church  by  the 
churcliyard.  When  the  cure  motmied  the  ladiler  to 
tr.iin  his  pear-  and  peach-trees,  over  the  to|)  of  the  wall 
he  perceived  the  ;;raves  over  which  he  h.id  said  the 
last  prayer,  and  cast  the  first  spadeful  of  earih.  Then, 
while  conlinuinj;  his  work,  he  said  in  his  heart  a  liitle 
prayer  for  the  repose  of  those  amonir  his  dead  whose 
fate  disturbed  him.  and  who  nus^ht  be  still  detained  in 
pur«;atory.     He  had  a  irancpiil  and  childlike  f.iiih. 

Hut  amonjj  these  graves  there  was  one  which  oftener 
than  all  the  others  received  his  visits  and  his  prayers. 
It  was  the  tomi)  of  his  old  friend  Dr.  Reynaud,  who 
hail  died  in  his  arms  in  187  i,  and  under  what  circum- 
stances I  The  doctor  had  been  like  Bernard — he 
never  went  to  mass  or  to  confession  ;  but  he  was  so 
good,  so  charitable,  so  compassionate  to  the  sufferim;  ! 
This  was  the  cause  of  the  cure's  great  anxiety,  of  his 
great  solicitude.  His  friend  Reynaud.  where  was  he  ? 
Where  was    he?     Then    he   called  to    mind  the  noble 


lO  THE  ABBE    COX  STAN  TIN. 

life  of  the  country  doctor,  all  made  up  of  courage  and 
self-denial  ;  he  recalled  his  death,— above  all,  his 
death, — and  said  to  himself : 

"In  Paradise;  he  can  be  nowhere  but  in  Paradise. 
The  good  God  may  have  sent  him  to  purgatory  just 
for  form's  sake  ;  but  he  must  have  delivered  him  after 
five  minutes." 

All  this  passed  tiirough  the  mind  of  the  old  man  as 
he  continued  his  walk  toward  Souvigny.  He  was 
going  to  the  tow^n,  to  the  solicitor  of  the  marquise,  to 
inquire  the  result  of  the  sale,  to  learn  who  were  to  be 
the  new  masters  of  the  castle  of  Longueval.  The 
abbe  had  still  about  a  mile  to  walk  before  reaching 
the  first  houses  of  Souvigny,  and  was  passing  the  park 
of  Lavardens,  when  he  heard  above  his  head  voices 
caUing  to  him  : 

"  M.  le  Cure,  M.  le  Cure  !  " 

At  this  spot,  adjoining  the  wall,  a  long  alley  of 
lime-trees  bordered  the  terrace  ;  and  the  abbe,  raising 
his  head,  perceived  Mme.  de  Lavardens  and  her  son 
Paul. 

"Where  are  you  going,  M.  le  Cure.^"  asked  the 
comtesse. 

"To  Souvigny,  to  the  Tribunal,  to  learn " 

"  Stay  here  ;  M.  de  Larnac  is  coming  after  the  sale 
to  tell  me  the  result." 

The  Abbe  Constantin  joined  them  on  the  terrace. 

Gertrude  de  Lannilis,  Comtesse  de  Lavardens,  had 
been  very  unfortunate.  At  eighteen  she  had  been 
guilty  of  a  folly,  the  only  one  of  her  life,  but  that  one 
irreparable.     She  had  married  for  love,  in  a  burst  of 


THE   ABBE    COXSTAXTIX.  II 

enthusiasm  and  exaltation,  M.  de  Lavardens,  one  of 
the  most  fascinating  and  hriUiant  men  of  his  lime. 
He  did  not  love  her,  and  only  married  her  from  neces- 
sity ;  he  had  devoured  his  patrimonial  fortune  to  the 
very  last  farthing,  antl  for  two  or  three  years  had 
supported  himseif  by  various  exi)edieuts.  Mile,  de 
Lannilis  knew  all  that,  and  had  no  illusions  on 
these  points  ;  but  she  said  to  herself  : 

"  I  will  love  him  so  much  tliat  lie  will  end  by  loving 
me." 

Hence  all  her  misfortunes.  Her  existence  might 
have  been  tolerable  if  she  had  not  loved  her  husband 
so  much,  but  she  loved  him  too  much.  She  had  only 
succeeded  in  wearying  him  by  her  importunities  and 
tenderness.  He  returned  to  his  former  life,  which  had 
been  most  irregular.  P'ifteen  years  iiad  passed  thus- 
in  a  long  martyrdom,  supported  by  Mine,  de  La- 
vardens with  all  the  appearance  of  p.issive  resigna- 
tion. Nothing  ever  could  distract  iier  from,  or  cure 
her  of.  the  love  which  was  destroying  her. 

M.  de  Lavardens  died  in  1869;  he  left  a  son  four- 
teen years  of  age,  in  whom  were  already  visible  all  the 
defects  and  all  the  good  qualities  of  his  father.  With- 
out being  seriously  affected,  the  fortune  of  Mme. 
de  Lavardens  was  slightly  compromised,  slightly 
diminished.  Mme.  de  Lavardens  sold  her  mansion 
in  Paris,  retired  to  the  country,  where  she  Hved  with 
strict  economy,  and  devoted  herself  to  the  education, 
of  her  son. 

But  here,  again,  grief  and  disappointment  awaited 
her.     Paul  de  Lavardens  was  intelligent,  amiable,  and 


12  THE  ABBE   COX  STAN  TIN. 

affectionate,  but  thoroiiohly  rebellious  against  any 
constraint  and  any  si)ecies  of  work.  He  drove  to 
despair  three  or  four  tutors  who  vainly  endeavored  to 
force  something-  serious  into  his  head,  went  up  to  the 
military  College  of  Saint-Cyr,  failed  at  the  examina- 
tion, and  began  to  devour  in  Paris,  with  all  the  haste 
and  folly  possible,  two  or  three  hundred  thousand 
francs. 

That  done,  he  enlistt-d  in  the  first  regiment  of  the 
Chasseurs  d'Afrique,  had  in  the  very  beginning  of  his 
military  career  the  good  foi  tune  to  make  one  of  an 
expeditionary  column  sent  into  the  Sahara,  distin- 
g-uished  himself,  soon  becauie  quarter-master,  and  at 
the  end  of  three  yeais  was  about  to  be  appointed  sub- 
lieutenant when  he  was  captivated  by  a  young  ]-)er- 
son  who  played  the  "  Fdle  de  Mme.  Angot  "  at  the 
theatre  in  Algins. 

Paul  liad  finished  his  time  ;  lie  quitted  the  service, 
and  went  to  Paris  with  his  chaimer.  Then  it  was  a 
<lancer  ;  then  it  was  an  actiess  ;  then  a  circus  ridei-. 
Me  tried  life  in  every  form.  He  led  the  briUiant  and 
rm'serable  existence  of  the  unoccupied. 

But  it  was  only  three  or  four  months  that  he  passed 
in  Paris  each  year.  His  mother  made  him  an  allow- 
ance of  thiity  thousand  francs,  and  had  declared  to 
him  that  never  while  she  lived  should  he  have  another 
penny  before  his  marriage.  He  knew  his  mother;  he 
knew  lie  must  consider  her  words  as  serious.  Thus, 
^vishing  to  make  a  good  figure  in  Paris  and  lead  a 
merry  life,  he  spent  his  tliirty  thousand  francs  in  three 
months,    and    then    docilelv    leturned    to    La\ardens, 


r?;- 


THE   ABBE    COXSTAXIEV.  15 

where  he  was  "  out  at  grass."  He  spent  his  time 
hunting,  fishing,  and  riding  with  the  officeis  of  the 
artillery  regiment  quartered  at  Souvigny,  The  little 
provincial  miUineis  and  "  grisettes  "  replaced,  without 
rendering  him  oblivious  of,  the  little  singers  an(J 
actresses  of  Pai  is.  By  searcliing  for  them  one  may 
still  tind  grisettes  in  country  towns,  and  Paul  de 
Lavaidens  sought  assiduously. 

As  soon  as  the  cure  had  reached  Mme,  de 
L  uardeiis  she  saiil  : 

"  Wiihout  waiting  for  M.  de  Larnac,  I  can  tell  you 
the  names  of  the  j)urchasers  of  the  domain  of 
Longueval.  1  am  quite  easy  on  the  subject,  and  have 
no  doubt  of  the  success  of  our  ])lan.  In  order  to- 
avoid  any  foolish  disputes  we  have  agreed  aniong 
ourselves  ;  that  is,  between  our  neighbor  M.  de 
Larnac,  M.  Gallard,  a  great  Parisian  banker,  and  my- 
self. M.  de  Larnac  will  have  La  Mionne,  AL  Gallard 
the  castle  and  Llanche-Couronne,  and  I — La  Rozeraie. 
I  know  you,  M.  le  Cure  ;  you  will  be  anxious 
about  your  poor,  but  comfiMt  yourself.  These  Gal- 
lards  are  rich  and  will  give  you  plenty  of  money." 

At  this  moment  a  cloud  of  dust  appeared  on  the 
road  ;  from  it  emerged  a  cai"iiage. 

"  Here  comes  AL  de  Larnac  !  "  cried  Paul  ;  "  I 
know  his  ponies  I  " 

All  three  hurriedly  descended  from  the  terrace,  and 
returned  to  the  castle.  They  arrived  there  just  as  M. 
de  Larnac's  carriage  drove  up  to  the  entrance, 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Mme.  de  Lavardens. 

"  Well  !  "  replied  ]\L  de  Larnac,  "  we  have  nothing."" 


1 6  THE   ABBE    COX  ST  AN  TIN. 

"What?  Nothing?"  cried  Mine,  de  Lavardens, 
very  pale  and  agitated. 

"Nothing,  nothing;  absolutely  nothing— the  one 
or  the  other  of  us." 

And  M.  de  Larnac,  springing  from  his  carriage, 
related  what  had  taken  place  at  the  sale  before  the 
Tribunal  of  Souvigny. 

"  At  first,"  he  said,  "  everything  went  upon  wheels. 
The  castle  went  to  M.  Gallard  for  six  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs.  No  conij^etitor  ;  a  rise  of  fifty 
francs  had  been  sufficient.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
was  a  little  battle  for  Bianche-Couronne.  Tlie  bids 
rose  from  five  hundred  thousand  francs  to  five  hun- 
dred and  twenty  thousand  francs,  and  again  M.  Gal- 
lard was  victorious.  Another  and  more  animated 
battle  for  La  Rozeraie  ;  at  last  it  was  knocked  down 
to  you.  madame,  for  four  hundred  and  fifty-five  thou- 
sand francs.  I  got  the  forest  of  La  Mionne  without 
opposition  at  a  rise  of  one  hundred  francs.  All 
seemed  over,  those  present  had  risen,  our  solicitors 
were  surrounded  with  persons  asking  the  names  of 
the  purchasers. 

"  M.  Brazier,  the  judge  intrusted  with  the  sale, 
desired  silence  ;  and  the  bailiff  of  the  court  offei  ed  the 
four  lots  together  for  two  million  one  hunched  and 
fifty  or  sixty  thousand  francs,  I  don't  remember  which. 
A  murmur  passed  through  the  assembly.  '  No  one 
will  bid,'  was  heard  on  all  sides.  But  little  Gibert. 
the  solicitor,  who  was  seated  in  the  first  row  and  till 
then  had  given  no  sign  of  life,  rose  and  said  calmly: 
*  1  have  a  purchaser  for  the  four  lots  together  at  two 


THE   ABBE    COXSTANThV.  i? 

million  two  hundred  thousand  francs.'  This  was 
like  a  thunderbolt,  A  tremeiulous  clamor  arose,  fol- 
lowed i)y  a  dead  silence.  The  hall  was  filled  with 
farmers  and  laborers  from  the  neighborhood.  Two 
million  francs  !  So  much  money  for  the  land  threw 
tliem  into  a  sort  of  respectfid  stupor.  However, 
M.  Gallard,  bt  ncling-  toward  Sandrier,  the  solicitor  who 
had  bid  for  him,  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 
The  struggle  began  between  Gibert  and  Sandrier. 
The  bids  rose  to  two  millions  five  hundred  thousand 
francs.  M.  Gallard  hesitated  for  a  moment — 
deciiled — continued  up  to  three  millions.  Then  he 
stopped  and  the  whole  went  to  Gibert.  Everyone 
rushed  on  him  ;  they  surrounded,  they  crushed  liim. 
'  The  name,  the  name  of  the  purchaser.?'  '  It  is  an 
American,'  replied  Gibert,  '  Mrs.  Scott.'  " 

"  Mrs   Scott  I  "  cried  Paul  de  Lavardens. 

"  You  know  her.?  "  asked  Mme.  de  Lavardens. 

"  Do  I  know  her  }  Do  I  ?  Not  at  all.  But  I  was 
at  a  ball  at  her  house  six  weeks  ago." 

"  At  a  ball  at  her  house  !  and  you  don't  know  her.? 
What  sort  of  a  won^an  is  she,  then  .?  " 

"  Charming,  delightful,  ideal,  a  miracle  !  " 

"  And  is  there  a  Mr.  Scott  }  " 

"  Certainly  ;  a  tall,  fair  man.  He  w^as  at  his  ball  ; 
they  pointed  him  out  to  me.  He  bowed  at  random, 
right  and  left.  He  was  not  much  amused,  I  will  answer 
for  it.  He  looked  at  us  as  if  he  were  thinking,  '  Who  are 
all  these  people  .?  What  are  they  doing  at  my  house  .?  ' 
We  went  to  see  Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival,  her 
sister;  and  certainly  it  was  well  worth  the  trouble." 


1 8  THE   ABBE    COiX STAN  TIN. 

"These  Scotts,"  said  Mme.  de  Lavardens.  address- 
ing M.  de  Lainac,  "  dt)  you  know  who  they  are  ?  " 

"  Yes,  luachune,  I  know.  Mr.  Scott  is  an  American. 
possessing  a  colossal  fortune,  who  settled  himself  in 
Paris  last  year.  As  soon  as  their  name  was  men- 
tioned 1  understocxl  tiuit  tlie  victory  had  never  been 
doui)tful.  Gallard  was  beaten  beforehand.  '1  he 
Scotts  began  by  buying  a  house  in  Paris  for  two 
million  francs  ;  it  is  near  the  Pare  Mor.ceau." 

"Yes,  Rue  Murillo,"  said  Paul  ;  "  1  tell  you  I  went 
to  a  ball  theie.     It  was " 

"  Let  M.  de  Larnac  s])eak.  You  can  tell  us  pres- 
ently about  the  ball  at  Mrs.  Scott's." 

"  Well,  now,  imagine  my  Americans  established 
in  Paris,"  continued  M.  Larnac,  "  and  the  showers 
of  gold  begun.  In  the  orthodox  parvenu  style  they 
amuse  themselves  with  throwing  handfuls  of  gold  out 
of  window.  Their  great  wealth  is  quite  recent,  they 
say.  Ten  years  ago  Mrs,  Scott  begged  in  the  streets 
of  New  York." 

"  Begged !  " 

"  Tliey  say  so.  Then  she  married  this  Scott,  the 
son  of  a  New  York  banker,  and  all  at  once  a  success- 
fid  lawsuit  put  into  their  hands  not  millions,  but  tens 
of  millions.  Somewhere  in  America  they  have  a  silver 
mine,  but  a  genuine  mine,  a  real  mine— a  mine  with 
silver  in  it.  Ah  !  we  shall  see  what  luxury  will  reign 
at  Longueval  !  We  shall  all  look  like  paupers  beside 
them  !  It  is  said  that  they  have  one  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  day  to  spend." 

"  Such  are  our  neighbors!  "  cried   Mme.  de  Lavar- 


THE   ABBE   COySTANriN.  19 

dens.  "  An  adventuress  !  and  that  is  the  least  of  it  ; 
a  heretic,  M.  TAbbe,  a  Protestant !  " 

A  heretic  I  a  Protestant !  Poor  cure  ;  it  was  indeed 
that  of  which  he  had  immediately  tliought  on  hearing 
the  words,  "  An  American,  Mrs.  Scott."  The  new 
chatelaine  of  Longueval  would  not  go  to  mass.  What 
did  it  matter  to  him  that  she  had  been  a  beggar.? 
What  did  it  matter  to  him  if  she  possessed  tens  and 
tens  of  millions?  She  was  not  a  Catholic.  He  would 
never  again  baptize  children  born  at  Longueval  ;  and 
the  chapel  in  the  castle,  where  he  had  so  often  said 
mass,  would  be  transformed  into  a  Protestant  oratory, 
which  would  echo  only  the  frigid  utterances  of  a  Cal- 
vinistic  or  Lutheran  pastor. 

Everyone  was  distressed,  disappointed,  over- 
whelmed, but  in  the  midst  of  the  general  depression 
Paul  stood  radiant. 

"A  charming  heretical  all  events,"  said  he,  "  or, 
rather,  two  charming  heretics.  You  should  see  the 
two  sisters  on  horseback  in  the  Bois,  with  two  little 
grooms  behind  them,  not  higher  than  that." 

"  Come,  Paul,  tell  us  all  you  know.  Describe  the 
ball  of  which  you  speak.  How  did  you  happen  to  go 
to  a  ball  at  these  Americans'  }  " 

"By  the  greatest  chnnce.  My  Aunt  Valentine  wns 
at  home  that  night.  I  looked  in  about  ten  o'clock. 
Well,  Aunt  Valentine's  Wednesdays  are  not  exactly 
scenes  of  wild  enjoyment,  give  you  my  word  !  I  had 
been  there  a!)out  twenty  minutes  when  I  caught  sight 
of  Roger  de  Puymartin  escaping  furtively.  1  caught 
him  in  the  hall,  and  said  . 


20  THE   ABBE   CONSTANTIiV. 

"  'We  will  go  liome  together.' 

"  'Oh,  I  am  not  going  iiome.' 

"  '  Wiiere  are  you  going  ?  ' 

'"  To  the  hall.' 

"  '  Where  ?  ' 

"  '  At  Mrs.  Scott's.     Will  you  come  ?  ' 

"  '  But  I  have  not  been  invited." 

"  '  Neither  have  I.' 

"  '  What  !  not  invited.^  ' 

"  '  No.     I  am  going  with  one  of  my  friends.' 

"  '  And  does  your  friend  know  them  ?  ' 

"'Scarcely;  but  enough  to  introduce  us.  Come 
along;  you  will  see  Mrs.  Scott.' 

"  '  Oh,  I  have  seen  her,  on  horseback  in  the  Bois.' 

"  '  But  she  does  not  wear  a  low  gown  on  horse- 
back ;  you  have  not  seen  her  shoulders,  and  they  are 
shoulders  which  ought  to  be  seen.  There  is  nothing 
better  in  Paris  at  this  moment.' 

"And  I  went  to  the  ball,  and  I  saw  Mrs.  Scott's 
red  hair,  and  I  saw  Mrs.  Scott's  white  slioulders,  and 
I  hope  to  see  them  again  when  there  are  balls  at 
Longueval." 

"  Paul  !"  said  Mine,  de  Lavardens,  pointing  to  the 
abbe. 

"  Oh,  M.  I'Abbe  !  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons.  Have 
I  said  anything  ?     It  seems  to  me " 

The  poor  old  priest  had  heard  nothing  ;  his  thoughts 
were  elsewhere.  Already  he  saw,  in  the  villnge  streets, 
the  Protestant  pastor  fi'om  the  castle  stopping  before 
each  house,  and  slipping  under  the  doors  little  Evan- 
gelical pamphlets. 


THE   ABBE   COX  STAN  TIN.  21 

Continuing  his  account,  Paul  launched  into  an  en- 
thusiastic description  of  the  mansion,  wliich  was  a 
marvel 

"  Of  bad  taste  and  ostentation,"  interrupted  Mme. 
de  Lavardens. 

"  Not  at  all,  motlier,  not  at  all  ;  nothing  startling, 
nothing  loud.  It  is  admirably  fuinished.  everything 
done  with  elegance  and  originality.  An  incompara- 
ble coiiseivatory,  flooded  with  electric  light  !  The 
buffet  was  placed  in  the  conservatory  under  a  vine 
laden  with  grapes,  which  one  could  gather  by  hand- 
fuls,  and  in  the  month  of  April  !  The  accessories  of 
the  cotillon  cost,  it  aj)pears,  more  than  forty  thousand 
francs.  Ornaments,  bonboiuiieres,  delicious  trifles, 
and  we  were  begged  to  accept  them.  For  my  part  I 
took  nothing,  but  there  were  many  who  made  no 
scruple.  That  evening  Puymartin  told  me  Mrs.  Scott's 
history,  but  it  was  not  at  all  like  M.  de  Larnac's 
story.  Roger  said  that  when  quite  little  Mrs.  Scott 
had  been  stolen  from  her  family  by  some  acrobats, 
and  that  her  father  had  found  her  in  a  travelling 
circus,  riding  on  bare-backed  horses  and  jumping 
througii    p  iprr    ho  )ps." 

"A  circus-rider  I  "  cried  Mme.  de  Lavardens;  "  I 
should  have  preferred  the  beggar." 

"  And  while  Roger  was  telling  me  tin's  Family 
Herald  romance  I  saw  approaching  from  the  end  of 
a  gallery  a  wonderful  cloud  of  lace  and  satin.  It  sur- 
rounded this  rider  from  a  wandering  circus,  and  I 
admired  those  shoulders,  those  dazzling  shoulders,  on 
which   undulated   a  necklace  of  diamonds  as   bin  as 


2  2  THE   ABBE   coys  I  AN  TIN. 

the  stopper  of  a  decanter.  They  say  that  the  Minis- 
ter of  Finance  had  sold  secieil\  lo  Mrs.  Scott  half  the 
crown  chanionds,  and  that  tiiai  was  h.ow,  the  month 
before,  he  had  been  able  lo  sliow  a  surplus  of  fifteen 
hundred  thousand  francs  in  the  budget.  Add  to  all 
this  that  the  lady  had  a  remaikably  good  air,  and  that 
the  little  acrobat  seemed  jjerfectly  at  home  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  splendoi." 

Paul  was  going  so  far  that  his  mother  was  obliged 
to  stop  him.  Before  IVI.  de  Larnac,  who  was  exces- 
sively annoyed  and  disappointed,  he  showed  too 
plaiidy  his  delight  at  the  prospect  of  having  this 
marvellous  American  for  a  near  neighbor. 

The  Abbe  Constantin  was  preparing  to  return  to 
Longueval,  but  Paul,  seeing  him  ready  to  start,  said  : 

"  No,  no,  M.  le  Cure,  you  must  not  think  of  walk- 
ing back  to  Longueval  in  the  heat  of  the  day.  Allow 
me  to  drive  you  home.  I  am  really  grieved  to  see  you 
so  cast  down,  and  will  try  my  best  to  amuse  you.  Oh, 
if  you  were  ten  times  a  saint,  I  would  make  you  laugh 
at  my  stories." 

And  half  an  hour  after  the  two — the  cure  and 
Paul — drove  side  by  side  in  the  direction  of  the  village. 
Paul  talked,  talked,  talked.  His  mother  was  not 
there  to  check  or  moderate  his  transports,  and  his  joy 
was  overflowing. 

"  Now,  look  here,  M.  I'Abbe,  you  are  wrong  to 
take  things  in  this  tragic  manner.  Slay,  look  at 
my  little  mare,  how  well  she  trots  !  What  good  ac- 
tion she  has  !  You  have  not  seen  her  before  .?  What 
do  you   think   I  paid  for  her  .?     Four  hundred  frar.cs. 


THE  ABBE   CO.VSTANTLY.  23 

I  discovered  her  a  fortnight  ago  between  the  sliafts  of 
a  market  gardener's  cart.  She  is  a  treasure.  I  assure 
you  she  can  do  sixteen  miles  an  hour,  and  keep  one's 
hands  full  all  the  time.  Just  see  how  she  pulls  ! 
Come,  tot,  tot,  tot!  You  are  not  in  a  iiurry,  M. 
I'Abbe,  I  hope.  Let  us  return  through  the  wood  ; 
the  fresh  air  will  do  you  good.  Oh,  M.  I'Abbe,  if  you 
only  knew  what  a  regard  I  have  for  you,  and  respect, 
too.     I  did   not  talk  too   much   nonsense   before  you 

just  now,  did  I  }     I  siiould  be  so  sorry " 

"  No,  my  child,  I  heard  nothing." 
*'  Well,  we  will  take  the  longest  way  round." 
After  having  turned   to  the  left  in   the  wood  Paul 
resumed  his  communications. 

"  I  was  saying,  M.  I'Abbe,"  he   went  on,  "that  you 
are  wrong   to  take  things  so  seriously.       Shall   I  tell 
you  what  I  think  }     This  is  a  very  fortunate  affair." 
"  Very  fortunate  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  fortunate.  I  would  rather  see  the  Scotts 
at  Longueval  than  the  Gallards.  Did  you  not  hear 
M.  de  Larnac  reproach  these  Americans  with  spend- 
ing their  money  foolishly }  It  is  never  foolish  to 
spend  money.  The  folly  lies  in  keeping  it.  Your 
poor, — for  1  am  perfectly  sure  that  it  is  your  poor  of 
whom  you  are  thinking, — your  poor  have  made  a  good 
thing  of  it  to-day.  That  is  my  opinion.  The  re- 
ligion }  Well,  they  will  not  go  to  mass,  and  that  will 
be  a  grief  to  you  ;  that  is  only  natural.  But  they  will 
send  you  money,  plenty  of  money,  and  you  "will  take 
it,  and  you  will  be  quite  right  in  doing  so.  You  will 
see  that  you  will  not  say  no.     There  will  be  gold  rain- 


24  THE   ABBE   CONS'IANTIX. 

ing  over  the  \vliole  pUice  ;  a  movement,  a  l)ustle,  car- 
riages Avith  four  horses,  postihons,  powdered  foot- 
men, paper-chcises,  hunting-parties,  balls,  fireworks, 
and  here  in  this  very  spot  I  shall  perhaps  find  Paris 
again  before  long.  I  shall  see  once  more  the  two 
rideis  and  the  two  little  grooms  of  whom  I  was  speak- 
ing just  now.  If  you  only  knew  how  well  those  two 
sisters  look  on  horseback  !  One  morning  I  went  right 
round  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  behind  them,  I  fancy  I 
can  see  them  still.  They  had  high  hats  and  little 
black  veils  drawn  very  tightly  over  their  faces,  and 
long  riding-habits  made  in  the  princess  form,  with  a 
single  seam  right  down  the  back  ;  and  a  woman  must 
be  awfully  well  made  to  wear  a  riding-habit  like  that, 
because,  you  see,  M.  I'Abbe,  with  a  habit  of  that  cut 
there  is  no  deception  possible." 

For  some  inoments  the  cure  iiad  not  been  listening 
to  Paul's  discourse.  They  had  entered  a  long,  per- 
fectly straight  avenue,  and  at  the  end  of  this  avenue 
the  cure  saw  a  horseman  galloping  along. 

"  Look,"  said  the  cure  to  Paul,  "  your  eyes  are  bet- 
ter than  mine.      Is  not  that  Jean  .^  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  Jean.     I  know  his  gray  mare." 

Paul  loved  horses,  and  before  looking  at  the  rider 
.,)oked  at  the  horse.  It  was  indeed  Jean,  who,  when 
lie  saw  in  the  distance  the  cure  and  Paul  de  Lavar- 
dens,  waved  in  the  air  his  kepi,  adorned  with  two 
golden  stiipes.  Jean  was  lieutenant  in  the  regiment 
of  artillery  quartered  at  Souvignv. 

Some  moments  after  he  stopped  by  the  little  car- 
riage, and,  addressing  the  cure,  said  : 


THE  ABBE   CON  STAN  TIN.  25 

"  I  have  just  been  to  your  house,  inon  parraui. 
PauHne  told  me  that  you  had  gone  to  Souvigny  about 
the  sale.     Well,  who  has  bought  the  castle  ?  " 

*'  An  American — Mrs.  Scott." 

"  And  Blanche-Couronne  ?  " 

"The  same,  Mrs.  Scott." 

"  And  La  Rozeraie  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Scott  again." 

"  And  the  forest  }     Mrs.  Scott  again  }  " 

"You  have  said  it,"  replied  Paul;  "and  I  know 
Mrs.  Scott,  and  I  can  promise  you  that  theie  will  be 
something  going  on  at  Longueval.  I  will  introduce 
you.  Only  it  is  distressing  to  M.  I'Abbe  bec:'.use  she 
is  an  American — a  Protestant." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  true,"  said  Jean  sympalhizingly. 
"  However,  we  will  talk  about  it  to-morrow.  1  a^n 
going  to  dine  with  you,  godfather.  I  have  warned 
Pauline  of  my  visit ;  no  time  to  stop  to-day.  I  am 
on  duty,  and  must  be  in  quarters  at  three  o'clock." 

"  Stables .?"  asked  Paul. 

"Yes.     Good-by,  Paul.     To-morrow,  godfather." 

The  lieutenant  galloped  away.  Paul  de  Lavardens 
gave  his  little  horse  her  head. 

"  What  a  capital  fellow  Jean  is  !  "  said  Paul. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed." 

"  There  is  no  one  on  earth  better  than  Jean." 

"  No,  no  one." 

The  cure  turned  round  to  take  another  look  at  Jean, 
who  was  almost  lost  in  the  depths  of  the  forest. 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is  you,  M.  le  Cure." 

"  No.  not  nie  !  not  me  !  " 


26 


THE   ABBE   COX  STAN  TIN. 


"Well,  M.  I'Abbe,  shall  I  tell  you  what  I  think  ?  I 
think  there  is  no  one  better  than  you  two— you  and 
Jean.  That  is  the  truth,  if  I  must  tell  you.  Oh,  what 
a  splendid  place  for  a  trot !  I  shall  let  Niniche  go  ;  I 
call  her  Niniche." 

With  the  point  of  his  whip  Paul  caressed  the  flank 
of  Niniche,  who  started  off  at  full  speed,  and  Paul, 
delighted,  cried  : 

"Just  look  at  her  action,  M.  I'Abbe!  Just  look  at 
her  action  !  So  regular — just  like  clockwork.  Lean 
over  and  look." 

To  please  Paul  de  Lavardens  the  Abbe  Constantin 
did  lean  over  and  look  at  Niniche's  action  ;  but  the 
old  priest's  thoughts  were  far  away. 


CHAPTER    II. 


This  sub-lieutenant  of  artillery  was  called  Jean 
Reynaud.  He  was  the  son  of  a  country  doctor  who 
slept  in  the  churchyard  of  Longueval. 

In  1846,  when  the  Abbe  Coiistantin  took  possession 
of  his  little  living,  the  grandfather  of  Jean  was  resid- 
ing in  a  pleasant  cottage  on  the  road  to  Souvigny, 
between  the  castles  of  Longueval  and  Lavardens. 

Marcel,  the  son  of  that  Dr.  Reynaud,  was  finishing 
his  medical  studies  in  Paris.  He  possessed  great  in- 
dustry and  an  elevation  of  sentiment  and  mind  ex- 
tremely rare.  He  passed  his  examinations  with  great 
distinction,  and  had  decided  io  tix  his  abode  in  Paris 
and  tempt  fortune  there  ;  and  everything  seemed  to 
promise  him  the  most  prosperous  and  brilh'ant  career, 
when  in  1852  he  received  the  news  of  his  father's 
27 


28  7 HE   ABBE   COXSTAXT/X. 

deatli.  He  had  been  struck  down  by  a  fit  of  apo- 
plexy. Marcel  hurried  to  Longueval  overwhelmed 
■with  g-rief,  for  he  adored  his  fatlier.  He  si)ent  a 
month  with  his  mother,  and  then  spoke  of  the  neces- 
sity of  returning  to  Paris. 

•'  That  is  true,"  said  his  mother  ;  "  you  must  go." 

"  What !  I  must  go  !  IVe  must  go,  you  mean.  Do 
you  think  that  I  would  leave  you  here  alone  .''  I  shall 
take  you  with  me." 

"  To  live  in  Paris  ?  to  leave  the  place  where  I  wns 
born,  wdiere  your  father  lived,  where  he  died  }  1  could 
never  do  it,  my  child,  never  !  Go  alone  ;  your  life, 
your  future,  are  there.  I  know  you  ;  I  know  that  you 
will  never  forget  me,  that  you  will  come  and  see  nie 
often,  very  often." 

"  No,  mother,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  will  stay  here." 
And  he  stayed. 

His  hopes,  his  ambitions,  all  in  one  moment  \nn- 
ished.  He  saw  only  one  tiling— duty,  the  duty  of  not 
abandoning  his  aged  mother.  In  duty,  simply  ac- 
cepted and  simply  discharged,  he  found  happiness. 
After  all,  it  is  only  thus  that  one  does  find  happiness. 

Marcel  bowed  with  courage  and  good  grace  to  his 
new  existence.  He  continued  his  father's  life,  enter- 
ing the  groove  at  the  very  spot  where  he  had  left  it. 
He  devoted  himself  without  regret  to  the  obscure 
career  of  a  country  doctor.  His  father  had  left  him  a 
little  land  and  a  little  money  ;  he  lived  in  the  most 
sim])le  maniifr  p()ssii)]e,  and  one-half  of  his  life 
belonged  to  ilie  poor,  fiom  whom  he  would  never 
receive  a  penny.     This  was  his  only  luxury. 


THE    ABBE    CONSTAXTIN.  29 

He  found  in  his  way  a  young  girl,  cliarming,  penni- 
less, and  alone  in  the  world.  He  married  her.  This 
was  in  1855,  and  the  following  year  brought  to  Dr. 
Reynaud  a  great  sorrow  and  a  great  joy — the  death 
of  his  old  mother  and  the  hiith  of  his  son  Jean. 

At  an  interval  of  six  weeks  the  Abbe  Constantin 
recited  the  prayers  for  the  dead  over  the  grave  of  the 
grandmother,  and  was  present  in  the  position  of  god- 
father at  the  baptism  of  the  grandson. 

In  consequence  of  constantly  meeting  at  the  bedside 
of  the  suffering  and  dying,  the  priest  and  the  doctor 
had  been  strongly  attiticted  to  each  other.  They 
instinctively  felt  that  they  belonged  to  the  same 
family,  the  same  race — the  race  of  the  tender,  the  just, 
and  the  benevolent. 

Year  followed  year — calm,  peaceful,  fully  occupied  in 
labor  and  duty,  Jean  was  no  longer  an  infant.  His 
fatht-r  gave  hitn  his  Hrst  lessons  in  reading  and  writ- 
ing, the  priest  his  first  lessons  in  Latin.  Jean  was 
intelligent  and  iiuhistrious.  He  made  so  much  prog- 
ress that  the  two  professors — particularly  the  cure — 
found  themselves  at  the  end  of  a  few  years  rather  cast 
into  the  shade  by  their  pupil.  It  was  at  this  moment 
that  the  countess,  after  the  death  of  her  husband, 
came  to  settle  at  Lavardens.  She  brought  with  her  a 
tutor  for  her  son  Paul,  a  very  nice  but  verv  lazv  little 
fellow.  The  two  children  were  of  the  same  age:  they 
had  known  each  other  from  their  earliest  }eais, 

Mme.  de  Lavardrns  had  a  great  regard  for  Dr. 
Reynaud,  and  one  day  she  made  him  the  following 
proposal  : 


so  THE   ABBE   CONSl'AN TIN. 

"  Send  Jean  to  me  every  morning,"  said  she.  "  I 
will  send  him  home  in  the  evening-.  Paul's  tutor  is  a 
very  accomplished  man  ;  he  will  make  the  children 
work  together.  It  will  be  rendering  me  a  real  service. 
Jean  will  set  Paul  a  good  example." 

Things  were  thus  arranged,  and  the  little  bourgeois 
set  the  little  nobleman  a  most  excellent  example  of 
industry  and  application  ;  but  this  excellent  example 
was  not  followed. 

The  war  broke  out.  On  November  14,  at  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  "  mobiles  "  of  Souvigny 
assembled  in  the  great  square  of  the  town ;  their 
chaplain  was  the  Abbe  Constantin,  their  surgeon- 
major  Dr.  Reynaud.  The  same  idea  had  come  at  the 
same  moment  to  both  ;  the  priest  was  sixty-two,  the 
doctor  fifty. 

When  they  started,  the  battalion  followed  the  road 
which  led  through  Longueval,  and  which  passed  before 
the  doctor's  house.  Mme.  Reynaud  and  Jean  were 
waiting  by  the  roadside. 

The  child  threw  himself  into  his  father's  arms. 

"  Take  me  too,  papa  !  take  me  too  !  " 

Mme.  Reynaud  wept.  The  doctor  held  them  both 
in  a  long  embrace  ;  then  he  continued  his  way. 

A  hundred  steps  farther  the  road  made  a  sharp 
curve.  The  doctor  turned,  cast  one  long  look  at  his 
wife  and  child — the  last ;  he  was  never  to  see  them 
again. 

On  January  8,  1871,  the  mobiles  of  Souvigny  at- 
tacked the  village  of  Villersexel,  occupied  by  the 
Prussians,  who  had  barricaded  themselves.     The  firing 


THE  ABBE   CONSTANTEY.  31 

began.  A  mobile  who  mnrched  in  the  front  rank 
received  a  ball  in  the  chest  and  fell.  There  was  a 
short  moment  of  trouble  and  hesitation. 

"  Forward  !  forward  !  "  shouted  the  ofTicers. 

The  men  passed  over  the  body  of  their  comrade, 
and  under  a  hail  of  bullets  entered  the  town. 

Dr.  Reynaud  and  the  Abbe  Constantin  marched 
with  the  troops.  They  stopped  by  the  wounded  man  ; 
the  blood  was  rushing  in  floods  from  his  mouth. 

"  There  is  nothing-  to  be  done,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  He  is  dying ;  he  belongs  to  you." 

The  priest  knelt  down  by  the  dying  jnan,  and  the 
doctor  rose  to  go  toward  the  village.  He  had  not 
taken  ten  steps  when  he  stopped,  beat  the  air  with 
both  iiands,  and  fell  all  at  once  to  the  ground.  The 
priest  ran  to  him  ;  he  was  dead — killed  on  the  spot  by 
a  bullet  through  the  temples.  That  evening  the  village 
was  ours;  and  the  next  day  they  placed  in  the  ceme- 
tery of  Villersexel  the  body  of  Dr.  Reynaud. 

Two  months  later  the  Abbe  Constantin  took  back 
to  Longueval  the  coffin  of  his  friend,  and  behind  the 
coffin  when  it  was  carried  from  the  church  walked  an 
orphan.  Jean  had  also  lost  his  mother.  At  the  news 
of  her  husband's  death  Mme.  Reynaud  had  remained 
for  twenty-four  hours  petritied,  crushed,  without  a 
word  or  a  tear;  then  fever  had  seized  her,  then 
delirium,  and  after  a  fortnight  death. 

Jean  was  alone  in  the  world  ;  he  was  fourteen  years 
old.  Of  that  family,  where  for  more  than  a  century 
all  had  been  good  and  honest,  there  remained  only  a 
child  kneeling  beside  a  grave  :  but  he,  too,  promised 


32  THE  ABBE   CON  STAN  TIN. 

to  he  what  his  fnther  and  his  grandfatlier  before  him 
had  been — good  and  honest  and  true. 

There  are  frimilies  hke  that  in  France,  and  many  of 
tliein — more  than  one  ventures  to  say.  Oui"  poor 
country  is  in  many  respects  cruelly  calumniated  l)y 
certain  novelists,  who  draw  exaggerated  and  distorted 
pictures  of  it.  It  is  true  the  history  of  good  people  is 
often  monotonous  or  painful  ;  this  story  is  a  proof 
of  it. 

The  grief  of  Jean  was  the  grief  of  a  man.  He 
remained  long  sad  and  long  silent.  The  everiing  of 
his  father's  funeral  the  Abbe  Constantin  took  him 
liome  to  the  vicarage.  The  day  had  been  rainy  and 
cold.  Jean  was  sitting  by  the  fireside  ;  the  piiest  was 
reading  his  breviary  opposite  him.  Old  Pauline  came 
and  went,  arranging  her  affairs. 

An  hour  passed  without  a  word,  when  Jean,  raising 
liis  liead,  said  : 

"Godfather,  did  my  father  leave  me  any  money  .^  " 

This  question  was  so  extraordinary  that  the  old 
priest,  stupefied,  could  scarcely  believe  that  he  heard 
aright. 

"  You  ask  if  your  father " 

"  I  asked  if  my  father  left  me  some  money." 

"Yes  ;  he  must  have  left  you  some." 

"  A  good  deal,  don't  you  think  }  I  have  often  heard 
people  say  that  my  father  wms  rich.  Tell  me  about 
liow  much  he  has  left  me  !  " 

"  But  I  don't  know.      You  ask " 

The  jioor  old  man  felt  his  heart  rent  in  twain.  Such 
a  question  at  such   a  moment!     Yet   lie  thought  he 


THE   ABBE    CONSTANTEV.  33 

knew  the  boy's  lieart ;  and  in  that  heart  there  slioukl 
not  be  room  for  such  thoughts. 

"Pray,  dear  godfather,  tell  me,"  continued  Jean 
gently.  "  I  will  explain  to  you  afterward  why  1  ask 
that." 

"Well,  they  say  your  father  had  two  or  three 
hundred  thousand  francs." 

"  And  is  that  much  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  great  deal," 

"  And  it  is  all  mine  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  yours." 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad  !  because,  you  know,  the  day  that 
my  father  was  killed  in  the  war,  the  Prussians  killed 
at  the  same  time  the  son  of  a  poor  woman  in  Longue- 
val— old  Clemence,  you  know  ;  and  they  killed, 
too,  the  brother  of  Rosalie,  with  whom  I  used  to  play 
when  I  was  quite  little.  Well,  since  I  am  rich  and 
they  are  poor,  I  will  divide  with  Clemence  and  Rosalie 
the  money  my  father  has  left  me," 

On  hearing  these  words  the  cure  rose,  took  Jean  by 
both  hands,  and  drew  him  into  his  arms.  The  white 
head  rested  on  the  fair  one.  Two  large  tears  escaped 
from  the  eyes  of  the  old  priest,  rolled  slowly  down  his 
cheeks,  and  were  lost  in  the  furrows  of  his  face. 

However,  the  cure  was  obliged  to  explain  to  Jean 
that,  though  he  was  his  father's  heir,  he  had  not  the 
right  of  disposing  of  his  heritage  as  he  would.  There 
would  be  a  family  council,  and  a  guardian  would  be 
appointed. 

"  You,  no  doubt,  godfather  ?  " 

"  No,  not  I,  my  child  ;  a  priest  has  not  the  right  of 


34  THE  ABBE   CON  STAN  TIN. 

exercising  the  functions  of  a  guardian.  They  will,  I 
think,  choose  M.  Lenient,  the  lawyer  in  Souvigny,  who 
was  one  of  your  father's  i)est  friends.  You  can  speak 
to  him  and  tell  him  what  you  wish." 

M.  Lenient  was  eventually  appointed  guardian,  and 
Jean  urged  his  wishes  so  eagerly  and  touchingly  that 
the  lawyer  consented  to  deduct  from  the  income  a 
sum  of  two  thousand  four  hundred  francs,  which, 
every  year  till  Jean  came  of  age,  was  divided  between 
old  Clemence  and  little  Rosalie. 

Under  these  circumstances  Mme.  de  Lavardens 
was  perfect.     She  w-ent  to  the  abbe  and  said  : 

*'  Give  Jean  to  me  ;  give  him  to  me  entirely  till  he 
has  finished  his  studies.  I  will  bring  him  back  to  you 
every  year  during  the  holidays.  It  is  not  I  who  am 
rendering  you  a  service  ;  it  is  a  service  which  I  ask  of 
you.  I  cannot  imagine  any  greater  good  fortune  for 
my  son  than  to  have  Jean  for  a  companion.  I  must 
resign  myself  to  leaving  Lavardens  for  a  time.  Paul 
is  bent  upon  being  a  soldier  and  going  up  to  Saint- 
Cyr.  It  is  only  in  Paris  that  I  can  obtain  the  neces- 
sary masters.  I  will  take  the  two  children  there. 
They  will  study  together  under  my  own  eyes  like 
brothers,  and  I  will  make  no  difference  between 
them  ;  of  that  you  may  be  sure." 

It  was  difficult  to  refuse  such  an  offer.  The  old 
cure  would  have  dearly  liked  to  keep  Jean  with  him, 
and  his  heart  was  torn  at  the  thought  of  this  separa- 
tion ;  but  what  was  for  the  child's  real  interest  ? 
That  was  the  only  question  to  be  considered  ;  the 
rest  was  nothing.     They  summoned  Jean. 


THE   ABBE   CONSTANTiy.  35 

"My  child,"  said  Mine,  de  Lavardens  to  him, 
"will  you  come  and  live  with  Paul  and  me  for  some 
years  ?     I  will  take  you  both  to  Paris." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  madame,  but  1  should  have 
liked  so  much  to  stay  here." 

He  looked  at  tiie  cure,  who  turned  away  his  eyes. 

"  Why  must  we  go  ?  "  he  continued.  "Why  must 
you  take  Paul  and  me  away  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  only  in  Paris  that  you  can  hav^e  all 
the  advantages  necessary  to  complete  your  studies. 
Paul  will  prepare  for  his  examination  at  Saint-Cyr. 
You  know  he  wants  to  be  a  soldier," 

"Socio  I,  madame.     I  wish  to  be  one,  too." 

"You  a  soldier !"  exclaimed  the  cure;  "but  you 
know  that  was  not  at  all  your  father's  idea.  In  my 
presence  he  has  often  spoken  of  your  future— your 
career.  You  were  to  be  a  doctor,  and,  like  him,  doc- 
tor at  Longueval,  and,  like  him,  devote  yourself  to  the 
sick  and  poor.     Jean,  my  child,  do  you  remember.?  " 

"  I  remember;  I  remember." 

"Well,  then,  Jean,  you  must  do  as  your  father 
wished.  It  is  your  duty,  Jean  ;  it  is  your  duty.  You 
must  go  to  Paris.  You  would  like  to  stay  here ;  I 
understand  that  well,  and  I  should  like  it,  too,  but  it 
cannot  be.  You  must  go  to  Paris,  and  w'ork — work 
hard.  Not  that  I  am  anxious  about  that ;  you  are 
your  father's  true  son.  You  will  be  an  honest  and  a 
laborious  man.  One  cannot  w^ell  be  the  one  without 
the  other.  And  some  day,  in  your  father's  house,  in 
the  place  where  he  has  done  so  much  good,  the  poor 
people  of  the   country   round  will    find    another  Dr. 


36  THE   ABBE   CO\^STANTIN. 

Reynaud,  to  wliom  lliey  may  look  for  lielp.  And  I, — 
if  by  chance  I  am  still  in  iliis  world, — when  that  day 
comes,  I  shall  be  so  happy  !  But  I  am  wron^  to  speak 
of  myself ;  I  ought  not  ;  I  do  not  count.  It  is  of  your 
father  that  you  must  think.  I  repeat  it,  Jean,  it  was 
his  dearest  wish.     You  cannot  have  forgotten  it." 

"  No,  I  have  not  forgotten  ;  but  if  my  father  sees 
me  and  hears  me,  I  am  certain  that  he  understands 
and  forgives  me,  for  it  is  on  his  account." 

"  On  his  account  }  " 

"  Yes.  When  I  heard  that  he  was  dead,  and  when 
I  heard  how  he  died,  all  at  once,  witiiout  any  need  of 
reflection,  I  said  to  myself  that  I  would  be  a  soldier, 
and  I  will  be  a  soldier  !  Godfather,  and  you,  madame, 
I  beg  you  not  to  prevent  me." 

The  child  burst  into  tears — a  perfect  flood  of  pas- 
sionate tears.  The  comtesse  and  the  abbe  soothed 
liim  with  gentle  words. 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  is  settled,"  they  said  ;  "  anything  that 
you  wish,  all  that  you  wish." 

Both  had  the  same  thought  :  leave  it  to  time  ;  Jean 
is  only  a  child  ;  he  will  change  his  mind. 

In  this  both  weie  mistaken  ;  Jean  did  not  change 
his  mind.  In  the  month  of  September,  1876,  Paul  de 
Lavardens  was  rejected  at  Saint-Cyr,  and  Jean  Rey- 
naud passed  eleventh  at  the  Ecole  Polytechnique. 
The  day  when  the  list  of  the  candidates  who  had 
passed  was  published  he  wrote  to  the  Abbe  Constan- 
tin  :  "  I  have  passed,  and  passed  too  well,  for  I  want  to 
go  into  the  army,  and  not  the  Civil  Service.  How- 
ever, if  I  keep  my  place  in  the  school,  that  will  be  the 


THE   ABBE   CONSTANTIiV.  37 

business  of  one  of  iny  comrades  ;  he  will  Iiave  my 
chance." 

It  happened  so  in  the  end.  Jean  Reynaud  did  bet- 
ter than  keep  his  jjhice.  The  pass-hst  showed  iiis 
name  seventh  ;  but  instead  of  entering-  L'Ecole  cies 
Fonts  et  Chaussees,  he  entered  the  mihtary  college  at 
Fontainebleau  in  1878. 

He  was  then  just  twenty-one;  he  was  of  age,  mas- 
ter of  his  fortune,  and  the  first  act  of  the  new  a(hnin- 
istraiion  was  a  great,  a  very  great  piece  of  extrava- 
gance. He  bought  for  old  Ciemence  and  Utile  Rosalie 
two  shaies  in  government  stock,  yielding  tifleen  hun- 
dred francs  each.  That  cost  him  seventy  thousand 
francs,  almost  the  sum  that  Paul  de  Lavardens,  in 
his  first  year  of  liberty  in  Paris,  spent  for  Mile.  Lise 
BiTiyere  of  the  Pcdais-Royal  Theatre. 

Two  years  later  Jean  passed  tirst  at  the  examina- 
tion, and  left  Fontainebleau  with  the  right  of  choosing 
among  the  vacant  places.  There  was  one  in  the 
regiment  quartered  at  Souvigny,  and  Souvigny  was 
three  miles  from  Longueval.  Jean  asked  for  this,  and 
obtained  it. 

Thus  Jean  Reynaud,  lieutenant  in  the  ninth  regi- 
ment of  artillery,  came  in  the  month  of  October,  1880, 
to  take  possession  of  the  house  that  had  been  his 
father's  ;  thus  he  found  himself  once  more  in  the 
place  where  his  childhood  had  passed,  and  where 
everyone  had  kept  green  the  memory  of  the  life  and 
death  of  his  father;  thus  the  Abbe  Constantin  was 
not  denied  the  happiness  of  once  again  having  near 
him  the  son  of  his  old  friend,  and,  if  the  truth  must 


38  THE   ABBE   CONSTANTIN. 

be  told,  he  no  longer  wished  that  Jean  had  become  a 
doctor. 

When  the  old  cure  left  his  church  after  saying  mass, 
when  he  saw  coming  along  the  road  a  great  cloud  of 
dust,  when  he  felt  the  earth  tremble  under  the  rum- 
bling cannon,  he  would  stop,  and  like  a  child  amuse 
Inmself  with  seeing  the  regiment  pass  ;  but  to  him  the 
regiment  was — Jean.  It  was  this  robust  and  manly 
cavalier,  in  whose  face,  as  in  an  open  book,  one  read 
uprightness,  courage,  and  goodness. 

The  moment  Jean  perceived  the  cure  he  would  put 
his  horse  to  a  galloj),  and  go  to  have  a  little  chat  with 
his  godfather.  The  horse  would  turn  his  head 
toward  the  cure,  for  he  knew  very  well  there  was 
always  a  piece  of  sugar  for  him  in  the  pocket  of  that 
old  black  soictaiie,  rusty  and  worn — the  morning 
soutane.  The  Abbe  Constantin  had  a  beautiful  new 
one,  of  which  he  took  great  care,  to  wear  in  society — 
when  he  went  into  society. 

The  trumpets  of  the  regiment  sounded  as  they 
passed  through  the  village,  and  all  eyes  sought  Jean — 
"  little  Jean,"  for  to  the  old  people  of  Longueval  he 
was  still  little  Jean.  Certain  wrinkled,  broken-down, 
old  peasants  had  never  been  able  to  break  themselves 
of  the  habit  of  saluting  iiim  when  he  passed  with, 
"  Bonjour,  gamin  ;  9a  va  bien  ?  " 

He  was  six  feet  high,  this  "  gamin  "  ;  and  Jean 
never  crossed  the  village  without  perceiving  at  one 
window  the  old  furrowed  parchment  skin  of  Cle- 
mence,  and  at  another  the  smiling  countenance  of 
Rosalie.     The  latter  had  married  during  the  previous 


THE   ABBE    C0NS1\4NTIX.  41 

year ;  Jean  had  given  her  away,  and  joyously  on 
the  wedding-night  had  he  danced  with  tlie  girls  of 
Longueval. 

Such  was  the  lieutenant  of  artillery  who  on  Satur 
day,  May  28,  1881,  at  half-|)ast  four  in  the  afternoon, 
spiang  from  his  horse  before  the  door  of  the  vic.irage 
of  Longueval.  He  entered  the  gate.  The  horse 
obediently  followed  and  went  by  himself  into  a  little 
shed  in  the  yard.  Pauline  was  at  the  kitchen 
window.  Jean  approached  and  kissed  her  lieartily  on 
both  cheeks. 

"  Good-evening,  Pauline.     Is  all  well  }  " 

"  Very  well.  I  am  busy  preparing  your  dinner. 
Would  you  like  to  know  what  you  are  going  to  have  y 
Potato-soup,  a  leg  of  mutton,  and  a  custard." 

"That  is  excellent;  I  shall  enjoy  everything,  for 
I  am  (lying  of  hunger." 

"  And  a  salad  ;  I  had  forgotten  it.  You  can  help 
me  cut  it  directly.  Dinner  will  be  at  half-past  six 
exactly,  for  at  half-past  seven  M.  le  Cure  has  his 
service  for  the  month  of  Mary." 

"  Where  is  my  godfather  }  " 

*'  You  will  find  him  in  the  garden.  He  is  very  sad 
on  account  of  this  sale  of  yesterday." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  I  know." 

"  It  will  cheer  him  a  little  to  see  you  ;  he  is  always 
so  happy  when  you  are  here.  Take  care  ;  Loulou 
is  going  to  eat  the  climbing  roses.  How  hot  he 
is!" 

"  I  came  the  long  way  by  the  wood,  and  rode  very 
fast." 


42  THE  ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN. 

Jean  captured  Loulou,  who  was  directing  his  steps 
toward  the  chnibing  roses.  He  unsaddled  him,  fas- 
tened him  in  the  little  shed,  rubbed  him  down  with 
a  great  handful  of  straw,  after  which  Jean  entered 
the  "house,  relieved  himself  of  his  sword  and  kepi, 
replaced  the  latter  by  an  old  straw  hat,  value  six- 
pence, and  then  went  to  look  for  his  godfather  in  the 
garden. 

The  poor  al)be  was  indeed  sad  ;  he  hnd  scarcely 
closed  an  eye  all  night,  he  who  generally  slept  so 
easily,  so  quietly,  the  sound  sleep  of  a  child.  His  soul 
was  wrung.  Longueval  in  the  hands  of  a  foreigner, 
of  a  heretic,  of  an  adventuress  ! 

Jean  repeated  what  Paul  had  said  the  evening 
before, 

"  You  will  have  money,  plenty  of  money,  for  your 
poor." 

"  Money  !  money  !  Yes,  my  poor  will  not  lose, — 
perhaps  they  will  e\en  gain  by  it, — but  I  must  go  and 
ask  for  this  money  ;  and  in  the  salon,  instead  of  my 
old  and  dear  friend,  I  shall  find  this  red-haired  Amer- 
ican. It  seems  that  she  has  red  hair!  .1  will  certainly 
go,  for  the  sake  of  my  poor  I  will  go.  And  she  w  ill 
give  me  the  money,  but  she  will  give  me  nothing  but 
money.  The  marquise  gave  me  something  else— her 
life  and  her  heart.  Every  week  we  went  together  to 
visit  the  sick  and  the  poor.  She  knew  all  the  suffer- 
ings and  the  miseries  of  the  country  round,  and  when 
the  gout  nailed  me  to  my  easy-chair,  she  made  the 
rounds  alone,  and  as  well,  or  better,  than  I," 

Pauline  inteirupiecl  this  conveisation.     She  can  ied 


TflE   ABBE    CONSTAXTLV.  45 

an  immense  eartlienware  salad-tlish,  on  which 
bloomed,  violent  and  startling-,  enormous  red 
fioweis. 

"  Here  I  am,"  said  Pauline  ;  "  1  am  going  to  cut  the 
salad.     Jean,  would  you  like  lettuce  or  endive  ?  " 

"  Endive,"  said  Jean  gayly.  "  It  is  a  long  time 
since  I  have  had  any  endive." 

"  Well,  you  shall  have  some  to-night.  Stay,  take 
the  dish." 

Pauline  began  to  cut  the  endive,  and  Jean  bent 
down  to  receive  the  leaves  in  the  great  salad-dish. 
The  cure  looked  on. 

At  this  moment  a  sound  of  little  bells  wns  heard. 
A  carriage  was  approaching — one  heard  the  jangling 
and  creaking  of  its  wheels.  The  cure's  little  garden 
was  only  separated  from  the  road  by  a  low  hedge, 
in  the  middle  of  which  was  a  little  trellised  gate. 

All  three  looked  out,  and  saw^  driving  down  the 
road  a  hired  carriage  of  most  primitive  construction, 
drawn  by  two  great  white  horses,  and  driven  by  an 
old  coachman  in  a  blouse.  Beside  this  old  coachman 
was  seated  a  tall  footman  in  livery,  of  the  most  severe 
and  correct  demeanor.  In  the  carriage  were  two 
young  women,  dressed  both  alike  in  very  elegant  but 
very  simple  travelling-costumes. 

When  the  carriage  was  opposite  the  gate,  the 
coachman  stopped  his  horses,  and,  addressing  the 
abbe,  "  M.  le  Cure,"  said  he,  "  these  ladies  wish  to 
speak  to  you." 

Then,  turning  toward  the  ladies  :  "  This  is  M.  le 
Cure  de  Lontiueval." 


46  THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN. 

The  Abbe  Constaniin  approached  and  opened  the 
little  gate.  The  travellers  alighted.  Their  looks 
rested,  not  without  astonishment,  on  tlie  young  officer, 
who  stood  there,  a  little  embarrassed,  with  his  straw 
iiat  in  one  iiand  and  his  salid-dish,  all  overflowing 
with  endive,  in  the  other. 

The  visitors  entered  the  garden,  and  the  elder, — she 
seemed  about  twenty-tive, — addressing  the  Abbe  Con- 
stantin,  said  to  him  with  a  little  foreign  accent,  very 
original  and  very  j^eculiar  : 

"  I  am  obliged  to  introduce  myself — Mis.  Scott ; 
I  am  Mrs.  Scott !  It  was  I  who  bought  the  castle 
and  farms  and  all  the  rest  here  at  the  sale  yesterday. 
I  hope  that  I  do  not  disturb  you,  and  that  you  can 
spare  me  five  minutes."  Then,  pointing  to  her 
travelling  companion  :  "  Miss  Bettina  Percival,  my 
sister;  you  guessed  it,  I  am  sure.  We  are  very  much 
alike,  are  we  not  ?  Ah,  Bettina  !  we  have  left  our 
bags  in  the  carriage,  and  we  shall  want  them 
directly." 

"  I  will  get  them." 

And  as  Miss  Percival  prepared  to  go  for  the  two 
little  bags  Jean  said  to  her  : 

"  Pray  allow  me." 

"  1  am  really  very  sorry  to  give  you  so  much  trou- 
ble. The  servant  will  give  them  to  you  ;  they  are  on 
the  front  seat." 

She  had  the  same  accent  as  her  sister,  the  same 
large  eyes, — black,  laughing,  and  gay, — and  the  same 
hair,  not  red,  but  fair,  with  golden  shades,  where 
daintily  danced  the  light  of  the  sun.     She  bowed  to 


THE   ABBE    COX  STAN  TIN. 


47 


Jean  with  a  pretty  little  smile,  and  he,  haviiig  returned 
to  Pauline  the  salad-dish  full  of  endive,  went  to  look 
for  the  two  little  bags.  Meanwhile,  much  agitated, 
sorely  disturbed,  the  Abbe  Constantin  introduced  into 
his  vicarage  the  new  Chatelaine  de  Longueval. 


CHAPTER    III. 


This  vicarage  of  Longueval  was  far  from  being  a 
palace.  The  same  apartment  on  the  ground  floor 
seived  for  (Hning  and  drawinfy  I'ooin,  communicating 
(hrectly  with  the  kitchen  by  a  door,  wliich  stood 
always  wide  open.  This  room  was  furnished  in  the 
most  scanty  manner  :  two  old  armchairs,  six  straw 
chairs,  a  sideboard,  a  round  table.  Pauline  had 
already  laid  the  cloth  for  the  dinner  of  the  abbe  and 
Jean. 

Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival  went  and  came,  exam- 
ining the  domestic  arrangements  of  the  cure  with  a 
sort  of  childish  wonder. 

"  But  the  garden,  the  house,  everything  is  charm- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Scott. 

48 


THE   ABBE    CO^fSTANTIN.  49 

They  both  boldly  penetrated  into  the  kitchen  ;  the 
Abbe  Constantin  followed  them,  scared,  bewildered, 
stupefied  at  the  suddenness  and  resolution  of  this 
American  invasion. 

Old  Pauline,  with  an  anxious  and  gloomy  air,  exam- 
ined the  two  foreigners. 

"  There  they  are,  then,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  these 
Protestants,  these  accursed  heretics  !  " 

"  1  must  compliment  you,"  said  Bettina  ;  "  it  is  so 
l)eautifully  kept.  Look,  Suzie,  is  not  the  vicarage 
altogether  exactly  what  you  wished  }'' 

•'And  so  is  the  cure,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Scott.  "  Yes, 
M.  le  Cure,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  so,  you  do  not 
know  how  happy  it  makes  me  to  find  you  just  what 
you  are.  In  the  railway  carriage  what  did  I  say  to 
you,  Bettina .?  And  again  just  now,  when  we  were 
driving  here  }  " 

"  My  sister  said  to  me,  M.  le  Cure,  that  what  she 
desired  above  everything  was  a  priest  not  young  or 
melancholy  or  severe,  but  one  with  white  hair  and  a 
kind  and  gentle  manner.  And  that  is  exactly  what 
you  are,  M.  le  Cure,  exactly.  No,  we  could  not  have 
been  more  fortunate.  Excuse  me  for  speaking  to  you 
in  this  manner.  The  Parisians  know  how  to  make 
pretty  phrases,  but  I  do  not ;  and  in  sj)eaking  French 
1  should  often  be  quite  at  a  loss  if  I  did  not  say  every- 
thing in  a  simple  and  childish  way,  as  it  comes  into 
my  head.  In  a  word,  I  am  satisfied,  quite  satisfied, 
and  I  hope  that  you,  too,  M.  le  Cure,  will  be  as  satis- 
fied with  your  new  parishioners." 

"  My  parishioners  !  "  exclaimed  the  cure,  all  at  once 


50  THE   ABBE   COX  STAN  TIN. 

recovering  speech,  movement,  life — everything  wliich 
for  some  moments  had  completely  abandoned  him. 
"My  parishioners!  Pardon  me,  madame,  mademoi- 
selle, I  am  so  agitated.  You  will  be — you  are  Catho- 
lics ?  " 

"  Certainly  we  are  Catholics." 

"Catholics!  Catholics!"  repeated  the  cure. 

"  Catiiolics  !  Catholics  !  "  echoed  old  Pauline. 

Mrs.  Scott  looked  from  the  cure  to  Pauline,  from 
Pauline  to  the  cui'e,  much  surprised  that  a  single 
word  should  i)roduce  such  an  effect,  and,  to  complete 
the  tableau,  Jean  appeared  carrying  the  two  little 
travelling-bags. 

The  cure  and  Pauline  saluted  him  with  the  same 
w^ords  : 

"  Catholics  !  Catholics  !  " 

"  Ah !  1  ])egin  to  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Scott, 
laughing.  "  It  is  our  name,  our  country  ;  you  nmst 
have  thought  that  we  were  Protestants.  Not  at  all. 
Our  mother  was  a  Canadian,  French  and  Catholic  by 
descent;  that  is  why  my  sister  and  I  both  speak 
French,  with  an  accent,  it  is  true,  and  with  certain 
American  idioms,  but  yet  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be 
able  to  express  nearly  all  we  want  to  say.  My  hus- 
band is  a  Protestant  ;  but  he  allows  me  complete 
liberty,  and  my  two  children  are  Catholics.  That  is 
why,  M.  I'Abbe,  we  wished  to  come  and  see  you  the 
very  first  day." 

"That  is  one  reason,"  continued  Bettina,  "but 
there  is  also  another;  but  for  that  reason  we  shall 
want  our  little  bags." 


THE   ABBE   COXSTAXTIN.  51 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Jean, 

While  the  two  httle  bags  passed  from  the  hands  of 
the  officer  to  those  of  Mrs.  Scott  and  Bettina,  the 
cure  introduced  Jean  to  the  two  Americans;  but  his 
agitation  was  so  great  that  the  introduction  was  not 
made  strictly  according  to  rule.  The  cure  only  forgot 
one  thing,  it  is  true,  but  that  was  a  thing  tolerably 
essential  in  an  introduction — the  family  name  of 
Jean. 

"  It  is  Jean,"  said  he,  "  my  godson,  lieutenant  of 
artillery,  now  quartered  at  Souvigny.  He  is  one  of 
the  family." 

Jean  made  two  deep  bows,  the  Americans  two  little 
ones,  after  which  they  foraged  in  their  bags,  from 
which  each  drew  a  7'oiileau  of  one  thousand  francs, 
daintly  enclosed  in  green  sheaths  of  serpent-skin, 
clasped  with  gold. 

"  I  have  brought  you  this  for  your  poor,"  said  Mrs. 
Scott. 

"And  I  have  brought  this,"  said  Bettina. 

"  And  besides  that,  M.  le  Cure,  I  am  going  to  give 
you  tive  hundred  francs  a  month,"  said  Mrs.  Scott. 

"  And  I  will  do  like  my  sister." 

Delicately  they  slipped  their  offei'ings  into  the  right 
and  left  hands  of  the  cure,  who,  looking  at  each  hand 
alternately,  said  : 

"What  are  these  little  things.^  They  are  very 
heavy;  there  must  be  money  in  them.  Yes,  but  how 
much,  how  much  ?  " 

The  Abbe  Constantin  was  seventy-two,  and  much 
money  had  passed  through  his  hands  ;  but  this  money 


5 2  THE   ABBE   C  OA^S TA  A' TIN. 

had  come  to  him  in  small  sums,  and  the  idea  of  such 
an  offering  as  this  had  never  entered  his  head.  Two 
thousand  francs  I  Never  had  he  had  two  thousand 
francs  in  his  possession — no,  not  even  one  thousand. 
He  stammered  : 

"I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  madame;  you  are 
very  good,  mademoiselle " 

But,  after  all,  he  could  not  thank  them  enough,  and 
Jean  thought  it  necessary  to  come  to  his  assistance. 

"  These  ladies  have  just  given  you  two  thousand 
francs  !  " 

And  then,  full  of  warmest  gratitude,  the  cure 
cried  : 

"  Two  thousands  francs  !  Two  thousand  francs  for 
my  poor  !  " 

Pauline  suddenly  reap])eared, 

"  Here,  Pauline."  said  the  cure,  "  put  away  this 
money,  and  take  care " 

Old  Pauline  filled  many  positions  in  this  simple 
household—cook,  maid-of-all-woik,  treasurer,  dispen- 
ser. Her  hands  received  with  a  respectful  tremble 
these  two  little  7-ouleaiix,  which  represented  so  much 
misery  alleviated,  so  much  suffering  relie\ed. 

"  A  thousand  francs  a  month  !  But  there  will  be  no 
poor  left  in  the  country." 

"That  is  just  what  I  wish.  I  am  rich,  ver}'  rich, 
and  so  is  my  sister  ;  she  is  even  richer  than  I  am, 
because  a  young  girl  has  not  so  many  expenses,  while 

I Ah,  well  !  I  spend  all  that  I  can— all  that  I  can. 

When  one  has  a  great  deal  of  money,  too  much,  more 
than  one  feels  to  be  just,  tell  me,  M.  le  Cure,  is  there 


THE   ABBE   COIVSTANT/iV.  53 

any  other  way  of  obtaining-  pardon  than  to  keep 
one's  hands  open,  and  give,  give,  give,  all  one  can, 
and  as  usefully  as  one  can  ?  Besides,  you  can  give 
ine  something  in  return,"  and  turning  to  Pauline: 
"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  a  glass  of  water  ? 
No,  nothing  else,  a  glass  of  cold  water;  I  am  dying  of 
thirst." 

"  And  I,"  said  Bettina,  laughing,  while  Pauline  ran 
to  fetch  the  water,  "  1  am  dying  of  something  else — 
of  hunger,  to  tell  the  truth.  M.  le  Cure,  1  know  that 
I  am  going  to  be  dreadfully  intrusive.  I  see  your 
cloth  is  laid  ;  could  you  not  invite  us  to  dinner.^" 

*'  Bettina  !  "  said  Mrs.  Scott. 

"  Let  me  alone,  Suzie,  let  me  alone.  Won't  you, 
M.  le  Cure  ?     I  am  sure  you  will." 

I>ut  he  could  tind  no  reply.  The  old  cure  hardly 
knew  where  he  was.  They  had  taken  his  vicarage  by 
storm;  they  were  Catholics;  they  had  promised  him 
a  thousand  francs  a  month,  and  now  they  wanted  to 
dine  with  him.  Ah,  that  was  the  last  stroke  !  Terror 
Sf^ized  him  at  the  thought  of  having  to  do  the  honors 
of  his  leg  of  mutton  and  custard  to  these  two  absurdly 
rich  Americans.     He  murnmred  : 


"  Dine  !  you  would  like  to  dine  here.-^  " 
Jean  thought  he  must  interpose  again.  "  It  would 
be  a  great  pleasure  to  my  godfather,"  said  he,  "  if  you 
would  kindly  stay.  But  I  know  what  disturbs  him. 
We  were  going  to  dine  together, — just  the  two  of 
us, — and  you  must  not  expect  a  feast.  You  will  be 
very  indulgent  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  very  indulgent,"  replied    Bettina;  then. 


54  THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN. 

addressing  her  sister  :  "  Come,  Suzie,  you  must  not  be 
cross,  because  I  have  been  a  Httle, — you  know  it  is  my 

way  to  be  a  httle Let  us  stay,  will  you  ?     It  will 

do  us  good  to  pass  a  quiet  hour  here  after  such  a  day 
as  we  have  had — on  the  railway,  in  the  carriage,  in 
the  heat,  in  the  dust  ;  we  had  such  a  horrid  luncheon 
in  such  a  horrid  hotel.  We  were  to  have  returned  to 
the  same  hotel  at  seven  o'clock  to  dine,  and  then  take 
the  train  back  to  Paris;  but  dinner  here  will  be  really 
much  nicer.  You  won't  say  no  .^  Ah,  how  good  you 
are,  Suzie  !  " 

She  embraced  her  sister  fondly  ;  then,  turning  toward 
the  cure,  she  said  : 

"  If  you  only  knew,  M.  le  Cure,  how  good  she  is  !" 

"  Bettina  !   Bettina  !  " 

"Come,"  said  Jean,  "quick,  Pauline,  two  more 
plates  ;  I  will  helj)  you." 

"And  so  will  I,"  said  Bettina;  "I  will  help,  too. 
Oh,  do  let  me!  it  will  be  so  amusing.  M,  le  Cure, 
you  will  let  me  do  a  little  as  if  I  were  at  home  }  " 

In  a  moment  she  had  taken  off  her  mantle, and  Jean 
could  admire  in  all  its  exquisite  perfection  a  hgure 
marvellous  for  suppleness  and  grace.  Miss  Percival 
then  removed  her  hat,  but  with  a  little  too  much  haste, 
for  this  was  the  signal  for  a  chaiming  catastrophe.  A 
whole  avalanche  descended  in  torrents,  in  long  cas- 
cades, ever  Bettina's  shoulders.  She  was  standing 
before  a  window  flooded  by  the  rays  of  the  sun  ;  and 
this  golden  light,  falling  full  on  this  golden  hair,  formed 
a  delicious  frame  for  the  sparkling  beauly  of  the  }oung 
girl.     Confused  and  blushing,  Bettina  was  obliged  to 


THE   ABBE   CONSTANTIX.  57 

call  her  sister  to  her  aid,  and  Mrs.  Scott  had  much 
trouble  in  introducing  order  into  tiiis  disordei'. 

When  this  disaster  was  at  length  repaiied,  notiiing 
could  prevent  Bettina  from  rushing  on  plates,  knives, 
and  forks. 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  said  she  to  Jean,  "  I  know  very  well 
how  to  lay  the  cloth.  Ask  my  sister.  Tell  him,  Suzie, 
when  I  was  a  little  girl  in  New  York,  I  used  to  lay  the 
cloth  very  well,  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Scott. 

And  then,  while  begging  the  cure  to  excuse  Beltina's 
want  of  thought,  she,  too,  took  off  her  hat  and  mantle, 
so  that  Jean  had  again  the  very  agreeable  spectacle  of  a 
charming  figure  and  beautiful  hair;  l)ut,  to  Jean's  great 
regret,  the  catastrophe  iiad  not  a  second  representation. 

\\\  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Scott,  Miss  Peicival,  the 
cure,  and  Jean  were  seated  round  the  little  vicarage 
table;  then,  thanks  partly  to  the  impromptu  and 
original  nature  of  the  entertainment,  partly  to  the 
good-humor  and  perhaps  slightly  audacious  gayety 
of  Bettina,  the  conversation  took  a  turn  of  the  frankest 
and  most  cordial  familiarity. 

"  Now,  M.  le  Cure,"  said  Bettina,  "you  shall  see  if 
I  did  not  speak  the  truth  when  I  said  I  was  dying  of 
hunger.  I  never  was  so  glad  to  sit  down  to  dinner. 
^This  is  such  a  delightfid  finish  to  our  day.  Both  my 
sister  and  I  are  perfectly  ha]-)py  now  we  have  this 
castle  and  these  farms  and   the  forest." 

"And  then,"  said  Mrs.  Scott,  "to  have  all  that  in 
such  an  extraordinaiy  and  unexpected  manner!  We 
were  so  taken  bv  surprise." 


58  THE  ABBE   C0NS7AXTIN. 

"  You  may  indeed  say  so,  Suzie.  You  must  know, 
M.  rAl)be,  that  yesterday  was  my  sister's  birthday. 
But  first,  pardon  me,  M. — Jean,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Percival,  M.  Jean." 

"  Well,  M.  Jean,  a  little  more  of  that  excellent  soup, 
if  you  please." 

The  abbe  was  beginning  to  lecover  a  little,  but  he 
was  still  too  agitated  to  perform  the  duties  of  a  host. 
It  was  Jean  who  had  undertaken  the  management  iA 
his  godfather's  little  dinner.  He  filled  the  plate  of  the 
charming  American,  who  fixed  upon  him  the  glance 
of  two  large  eyes  in  which  sparkled  frankness,  daring, 
^nd  gayety.  The  eyes  of  Jean,  meanwhile,  repaid 
Miss  Percival  in  the  same  coin.  It  was  scarcely 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  since  the  young  American 
and  the  young  ofificer  had  made  acquaintance  in  the 
cure's  garden,  yet  both  felt  already  perfectly  at  ease 
with  each  other,  full  of  confidence,  almost  like  old 
friends. 

"  I  told  you,  M.  rAbi)e,"  continued  Bettina,  "  that 
yesterday  was  my  sister's  biithday.  A  week  ago  my 
brother-in-law  was  obliged  to  return  to  America  ;  but 
at  starting  he  said  to  my  sister  :  '  I  shall  not  be  wiih 
you  on  your  birthday,  but  you  will  hear  from  me.' 
So  yesterday  presents  and  bouquets  airived  from  all 
quarters,  but  from  my  l)rother-in-law,  up  to  five  o'clock, 
nothing — nothing.  We  weie  just  starting  foi'  a  ride 
in  the  Bois,  and  a  propos  of  riding  " — she  sto]i|)ed, 
and,  looking  curiously  at  Jean's  great  dusty  boots — 
"  M.  Jean,  you  have  s])urs  on." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Percival." 


THE   ABBE    CON S TAN 77 X.  59 

"  Tnen  you  are  in  the  cavalry  ?  " 

"  I  am  in  the  artihery,  ami  that,  you  know,  is 
cavalry." 

"  Ami  your  regiment  is  quartered " 

"  Quite  near  here." 

"  Then  you  will  be  able  to  ride  with  us  ?  " 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure." 

"  That  is  settled.     Let  me  see  ;  where  was  I  ?  " 

"  Vou  do  not  know  at  all  wliere  you  are,  Bettina, 
and  you  are  telling  these  gentlemen  things  w  hich  can- 
not interest  them." 

"  0!i,  I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  said  the  cure.  "  The 
sale  of  this  estate  is  the  only  subject  of  conxersatioii 
in  the  neighborhood  just  now.  and  Miss  Percival's 
acciumt  inteiests  me  veiy  much." 

"  Vou  see,  Suzie,  my  account  inteiests  M.  le  Cuie 
verv  much  ;  then  I  shall  continue.  We  went  for  our 
ride,  we  returned  at  seven  o'clock — nothi'ig.  We 
dined  ;  and  just  when  we  were  leaving  the  table  a 
telegram  from  America  arrived.  It  contained  only  a 
few  lines  : 

"  '  I  have  ordered  the  purchase  to-day,  for  you  and 
in  your  name,  of  the  castle  and  lands  of  Longueval, 
near  Souvigny,  on  the  Northern  Railway  line.' 

"  Then  we  both  burst  into  a  wild  tit  of  laughter  at 
the  thought." 

"No,  no  Bettiiia  ;  you  calumniate  us  both.  Our 
tirst  thought  was  one  of  very  sincere  gratitude,  for 
both  my  sister  and  I  are  very  fond  of  the  country.  My 
husband  knows  that  we  had  longed  to  have   an  estate 


6o  THE   ABBE    COXSTAXTIN. 

in  France.  For  six  months  he  had  been  looking  out, 
and  found  nothing.  At  last  he  discovered  this  one, 
and,  without  telhng  us.oidered  it  to  be  bought  for  my 
l)irthday.     It  was  a  deUcate  attention." 

"  Yes,  Suzie,  you  are  right  ;  but  after  the  httle  fit  of 
gratitude  we  had  a  great  one  of  gayety." 

"  Yes,  I  confess  it.  When  we  reahzed  that  we  had 
suddenly  become  possessed  of  a  castle,  without  know- 
ing in  the  least  where  it  was,  what  it  was  like,  or  how 
much  it  had  cost,  it  seemed  so  like  a  fairy-tale.  Well, 
for  five  good  minutes  we  laughed  with  all  our  hearts, 
then  we  seized  the  map  of  France,  and  succeeded  in 
discovering  Souvigny.  When  we  had  finished  with 
the  map,  it  was  the  turn  of  the  railway  guide,  and  this 
morning,  by  the  ten  o'clock  express,  we  arrived  at 
Souvigny. 

"  We  have  passed  the  whole  day  in  visiting  the 
castle,  the  farms,  the  woods,  the  stables.  We  are 
delighted  with  what  we  have  seen.  Only,  M.  le  Cure, 
there  is  one  thing  about  which  1  feel  curious.  I  know 
that  the  place  was  sold  yesterday  ;  but  I  have  not 
dared  to  ask  either  agent  or  farmer  who  accompanied 
me  in  my  walk, — for  my  ignorance  would  have  seemed 
too  absurd, —  I  have  not  dared  to  ask  how  much  it 
cost.  In  the  telegram  my  husband  does  not  mention 
tiie  sum.  Since  I  am  so  delighted  with  the  place,  the 
price  is  only  a  detail  ;  but  still  I  should  like  to  know 
it.     Tell  nie,  M.  le  Cuie,  do  you  know  what  it  cost?  " 

"  An  enormous  price,"  replied  the  cure,  "  for  many 
liopes  and  many  ambitions  were  excited  about 
Lonijueval." 


THE   ABBE   COX  STAN  TIN.  6 1 

"  An  enoniious  price  !  You  frijjhten  me  I  How 
much  exactly  ?  " 

"  Three  niilHons  !  " 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Is  that  all  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Scott.  "  Tiie 
castle,  the  farms,  the  forest,  all  for  three  millions." 

"  But  that  is  nothing,"  said  Bettina.  "  That  deli- 
cious little  stream  which  wanders  through  the  park  is 
alone  worth  three  millions." 

"  And  you  said  just  now,  M.  le  Cure,  that  there 
were  several  persons  wlio  disputed  the  purchase  with 
us?" 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Scott." 

"  And  after  th  sale  was  my  name  mentioned  among 
these  persons  }  " 

"  Certainly  it  was." 

"  And  when  my  name  was  mentioned  was  there  no 
one  there  who  spoke  of  me  ?  Yes,  yes,  your  silence  is 
a  sufficient  answer ;  they  did  sjDeak  of  me.  Well 
M.  le  Cure,  I  am  now  serious,  very  serious.  I  beg  you 
as  a  favor  to  tell  me  what  was  said." 

"  But,"  replied  the  poor  cure,  who  felt  himself  upon 
burning  coals,  "  they  spoke  of  your  large  fortune." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  they  would  be  obliged  to  speak  of 
that ;  and  no  doubt  they  said  that  I  was  very  rich,  but 
had  not  been  rich  long — that  I  wa.s^  pa7-veiiiit\  Very 
well,  but  that  is  not  all  ;  they  must  have  said  some- 
thing else." 

"No.  indeed  ;  I  have  heard  nothing  else." 

"  Oh,  M,  le  Cure  !  that  is  what  you  may  call  a  white 
lie,  and  it  is  making  you  very  unhappy,  because  natu- 
rally you  are  the   soul  of  truth  ;  but  if   I  torment  you 


62  THE   ABBE    COXS  /AXTIX. 

tluis  it  is  because  I  have  the  greatest  interest  in  know- 
ing what  was  said." 

"  Yon  are  right,"  interrupted  Jean  ;  "  you  are  riglit. 
They  said  you  were  one  of  the  most  elegant,  liie  must 

brilHant,  and  the " 

"  And  one  of  tlie  prettiest  women  in  Paris.  Witli  a 
little  indulgence  they  nnght  say  that;  but  that  is  not 
all  yet  —there  is  something  else." 

"  Oh  !  I  assure  you " 

*'  Yes,  there  is  something  else  ;  and  I  should  like  to 
liear  it  this  very  moment,  and  I  should  like  the  informa- 
tion to  be  very  frank  and  very  exact.  It  seems  to  me 
that  I  am  in  a  lucky  vein  to-day  ;  and  I  feel  as  if  you 
Avere  both  a  little  inclined  to  be  my  friends,  and  that 
you  will  be  so  entirely  some  day.  Well,  tell  me,  if  I 
iim  right  in  supposing  that  should  false  and  absurd 
stones  be  told  about  me,  you  will  help  me  to  contra- 
-dict  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jean  ;  "  you  are  right  in  believing 
that." 

"  WfU.  then,  it  is  to  you  that  I  address  myself. 
You  are  a  soldier,  and  courage  is  part  of  your  pro- 
fession. Promise  me  to  be  brave.  Will  you  promise 
me  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  understand  by  being  brave  }  " 

"  Promise,  promise^without  explanations,  without 
conditions." 

"  Well,  I  promise." 

"  You  will  then  reply  frankly,  '  yes '  or  '  no,'  to 
questions  ?  " 

"  1  will." 


THE   ABBE    COXSTAX IIX.  ^t, 

"Did  they  say  that  I  had  begged  in  the  streets  of 
New  York  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  said  so," 

"  Did  they  say  I  had  been  a  rider  in  a  travelhng' 
circus  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  said  that,  too." 

"Very  well;  that  is  plain  speaking.  Now.  remark 
first  that  in  all  this  there  is  nothing  that  one  might  not 
acknowledge  if  it  were  true  ;  but  it  is  not  true,  and 
have  I  not  tiie  right  of  denying  it  ?  My  history— I  will 
tell  it  you  in  a  few  words.  I  am  going  to  pass  a  part 
of  my  life  in  this  i)lace,  and  I  desire  that  all  should 
know  who  I  am  and  whence  I  come.  To  begin,  then. 
Poor  .^  Yes,  I  have  been,  and  very  poor.  Eight  years 
ago  my  father  died,  and  was  soon' followed  by  my 
mother.  I  was  then  eighteen,  and  Bettina  nine.  \Ve 
were  alone  in  the  world,  encumbered  with  heavy  debts 
and  a  great  lawsuit.  M\-  father's  last  words  had  been  : 
•  Suzie,  never,  never  compromise.  Millions,  my  chil- 
dren, you  will  have  millions.'  He  end)raced  us  both  ; 
soon  delirium  seized  him,  and  he  died,  repeating, 
'  Millions  I  millions  I '  The  next  moi-ning  a  lawyer 
appeared,  who  offered  to  pay  all  our  debts,  and  to 
give  us  besides  ten  thousand  dollars,  if  we  would  give 
up  all  our  claims.  1  refused.  It  was  then  that  for 
several  months  we  were  very  poor." 

"And  it  was  then,"  said  Bettina,  "  that  I  used  to 
lay  the  cloih." 

"  I  spent  my  life  among  the  solicitors  of  New  York, 
but  no  one  would  take  up  my  case.  Everywhere  I  i-e- 
ceived  the  same  reply  :  '  Your  cause  is  very  doubtful  ; 


64  THE   ABBE    COXSTAXTE^r. 

you  have  i-ich  and  formidable  adversaries  ;  you  need 
luoney,  large  sums  of  money,  to  bring  such  a  case  to 
ii  conclusion,  and  you  have  nothing.  They  offer  to 
]iay  your  debts,  and  to  give  you  ten  thousand  dollars 
l)r-sidrs.  Accept  it,  and  sell  youi-  case.'  But  my 
f.ither's  last  words  rang  in  my  ears,  and  1  would  not. 
l*()ver(y.  howexei',  might  soon  ha\-e  forced  me  to,  when 
one  day  1  made  anothei"  attempt  on  one  of  m\  falhei's 
old  friends,  a  bankei"  in  New  York,  Mr.  William 
Scott.  He  was  not  alone  ;  a  }oung  man  was  sitting 
in  his  office. 

"'You  may  speak  freely,'  said  Mr.  Stotl  ;  '  it  is  my 
son  Richard.' 

"  I  looked  at  the  young  man,  he  looked  at  me,  and 
we  recognized  each  other. 

"  *  Suzie  ! ' 

"  '  Richard  !  ' 

"  Formeilw  as  children,  we  had  often  plaxed  to- 
gether and  were  great  fiiends.  Se\en  or  eight  years 
before  this  meeting  he  had  been  sent  to  Europe  to 
finish  his  education.  We  shook  hands  ;  his  f;iiher 
made  me  sit  down,  and  asked  what  had  brought  me. 
He  listened  to  my  tale,  and  replied  : 

"'You  would  require  twenty  or  thirty  thousand 
dollars.  No  one  would  lend  you  such  a  sum  upon 
the  unceilain  chances  of  a  very  complicated  lawsuit. 
If  you  are  in  difficulties,  if  you  need  assistance ' 

"'It  is  not  that,  father.  That  is  not  what  Miss 
Percival  asks.' 

"  '  I  know  that  very  well,  but  what  she  asks  is 
impossible.' 


THE   ABBE    COXSTAXTLV.  65 

"  He  rose  to  let  me  out.  Tlieii  the  sense  of  my 
helplessness  overpowered  me  for  the  tlist  lime  since 
mv  father's  death.  I  burst  into  a  \-i()lent  flood  of 
tears.      An  hour  hiter  Richard  Scott  was  with  me. 

'•  '  Suzie,'  he  said,  '  promise  to  accept  what  I  am 
going-  to  offer.' 

"  I  ])i-omised  him. 

"'  Well,'  said  he,  'on  the  single  condition  that  my 
father  shall  know  nothing  about  it,  I  place  at  )our 
disposal  the  necessary  sum.' 

"  '  But  then  you  ought  to  know  what  the  lawsuit 
is — what  it  is  worth.' 

"  '  I  do  not  know  a  single  word  about  it,  and  I  do 
not  wish  to.  Besides,  you  have  promised  to  accept 
it  ;  )ou  cannot  withdraw  now.' 

"  I  accepted.  Three  months  after,  tlie  case  was 
ours.  All  this  vast  property  became  be\ond  dispute 
tiie  pi^opei'ty  of  Bettina  and  me.  The  othei'  side 
offered  to  buy  it  of  us  for  h\'e  millions.  I  consuhed 
Richard." 

"' Refuse  it  and  wait,'  said  he;  'if  they  offer  \nu 
such  a  sum,  it  is  because  the  property  is  worth 
double.' 

"  '  However.  I  must  i-eturn  you  youi"  money  ;  I  owe 
you  a  great  deal.' 

"'Oh!  as  for  that,  there  is  no  hurry.  I  am  very 
easy  about  it  ;  my  money  is  quite  safe  now.' 

"  '  But  I  s'lould  like  to  pay  )'ou  at  once.  I  have  a 
horror  of  debt  !  Perhaps  there  is  another  wav  with- 
out selling  the  property.  Ricliard,  will  you  be  my 
husband  ?  ' 


66  THE   ABBE    CONSTAXTIN. 

"  Yes,  M.  le  Cure,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Scott,  laughing; 
"  it  is  thus  that  I  threw  myself  at  my  husband's  head. 
It  is  I  who  asi<ed  his  liand.  But  really  I  was  obliged 
to  act  ihus.  Never,  never  would  he  have  spoken  ;  I 
had  become  too  rich,  and  as  it  was  me  he  loved,  and 
not  my  money,  he  was  becoming  terribly  afraid  of  me. 
That  is  the  history  of  my  marriage.  As  to  the  history 
of  my  fortune,  it  can  be  told  in  a  few  words.  There 
were  indeed  millions  in  those  wide  lands  of  Colorado. 
They  discovered  there  abundant  mines  of  silver,  and 
from  those  mines  we  draw  every  year  an  income  which 
is  beyond  reason  ;  but  we  have  agreed  —  my  husband, 
my  sister,  and  myself — to  gi\e  a  very  large  share  of 
this  income  to  the  poor.  You  see,  M.  le  Cure,  it  is 
because  we  have  known  very  hard  times  that  you  will 
always  find  us  ready  to  help  those  who  are,  as  we  have 
been  oursehes,  involved  in  the  difficulties  and  sorrows 
of  life.  And  now,  M.  Jean,  will  you  forgive  me  this 
long  discourse,  and  offer  me  a  little  of  that  cream, 
which  looks  so  very  good  }  " 

This  cream  was  Pauline's  custard,  and  while  Jean 
Was  serving  Mrs.  Scott  : 

"I  have  not  yet  tinished."  she  continued.  "You 
ought  to  know  what  gave  rise  to  these  extravagant 
stories.  A  year  ago,  when  we  settled  in  Paris,  we 
considered  it  our  duty  on  our  arrival  to  give  a  certain 
sum  to  the  ])oor.  Who  was  it  spoke  of  that.''  None 
of  us.  certainly,  but  the  thing  was  told  in  the  news- 
papeis.with  the  amount.  Immediately  two  young  re- 
poiters  hastened  to  subject  Mr.  Scott  to  a  little  exami- 
nation on  his  past  history  ;  they  wished  to  give  a  sketch 


THE   ABBE    COX  STAN  77 IV.  67 

of  our  career  in  tlie — what  do  you  c  ill  tliein  ? — society 
l)a])ei-s.  Mr.  Scott  is  sonietiiiies  a  little  hasty  :  he  was 
so  on  this  occasion,  and  dismissed  iht^se  gentlemen 
rather  brusquely  without  telling"  them  anything".  So, 
as  they  did  not  know  our  real  history,  they  invented 
one,  and  certainly  displayed  a  very  lively  imagination. 
First  they  related  how  1  had  begged  in  the  snow  in 
New  York;  the  next  day  appeared  a  still  more  sensa- 
tional article,  which  made  me  a  rider  in  a  circus  in 
Philadelphia.  You  have  some  very  funny  papers  in 
France  :  so  have  we  in  America  for  the  matter  of 
that." 

During  the  last  five  minutes  Pauline  had  been  mak- 
ing" dc-sperate  signs  to  the  cure,  who  persisted  in  not 
understanding  them,  till  at  last  the  poor  woman,  call- 
ing up  all  her  courage,  said  : 

"  M.  le  Cure,  it  is  a  quarter-past  seven." 

"  A  quirter  past  seven  !  Ladies,  I  must  beg  you  to 
excuse  me.  This  evening  I  have  the  special  service 
for  the  month  of  Mary." 

"  The  month  of  Mary  ?  And  will  the  service  begin 
directly  ?  " 

"  Yes,  directly." 

"  And  when  does  our  train  start  for  Paris  }  " 

"  At  half-past  nine,"  replied  Jean. 

"  Suzie,  can  we  not  go  to  church  first  ?  " 

"Yes,  we  will  go,"  replied  Mrs.  Scott  ;  "  but  before 
we  separate,  M.  le  Cure,  I  have  one  favor  to  ask  you. 
I  should  like  very  much,  the  first  time  I  dine  at 
Loiigueval,  that  you  would  dine  with  me,  and  you, 
too,  M.  Jean— just  us    four   alone,  like    to-day.      Oh, 


68  THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN. 

do  not  refuse  my  invitation.  It  is  given  with  all  my 
heart." 

"  And  accepted  as  heartily,"  replied  Jean. 

"  I  will  write  and  tell  you  the  day,  and  it  shall  be  as 
soon  as  possible.  You  call  that  having  a  house- 
warming,  don't  you  ?  Well,  we  will  have  the  house- 
warming  all  to  ourselves." 

Meanwhile  Pauline  had  drawn  Miss  Percival  into  a 
corner  of  the  room,  and  was  talking  to  h.er  with  great 
animation.  The  conversation  ended  with  these 
words : 

"You  will  be  there,"  said  Bettina,  "  and  you  will 
tell  me  the  exact  moment  }  " 

"  I  will  tell  you.  But  take  care  ;  here  is  M.  le  Cure. 
He  must  not  suspect  anything." 

The  two  sisters,  the  cure,  and  Jean  left  the  house. 
To  go  to  the  church  they  were  obliged  to  cross  the 
churchyard.  The  evening  was  delicious.  Slowly, 
silently,  under  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  the  four 
walked  down  a  long  avenue. 

On  their  way  was  the  monument  to  Dr.  Reynaud, 
very  simple,  but  which  yet  by  its  proportions  showed 
distinctly  among  the  other  tombs. 

Mrs.  Scott  and  Bettina  stopped,  struck  witli  this 
inscription  carved  on  the  stone  : 

"  Here  lies  Dr.  Marcel  Reynaud,  surgeon-major  of 
the  Souvigny  Mobiles.  Killed  January  8,  1871,  at  the 
battle  of  Villersexel.      Pray  for  him." 

When  they  had  read  it,  the  cure,  pointing  to  Jean, 
said  : 


THE    ABBE    COX  STAN  77. V. 


71 


"  It  was  his  father." 

The  two  sisters  ch-ew  near  the  tomb,  and  witli  bent 
heads  remained  there  for  some  minutes,  pensi\e, 
touched,  contemplative.  Then  both  tuiiied.  and  at 
the  same  moment,  by  the  same  impulse,  offered    their 


>"  « 

t^^ 


'-^ 


hands  to  Jean  ;  then  continued  their  walk  to  the 
church.  Their  tirst  prayer  at  Longueval  had  been  for 
the  father  of  Jean. 

The  cure  went  to  put  on  his  surplice  and  stole. 
Jean  conducted  Mrs.  Scott  to  the  seat  which  belonged 
to  the  masters  of  Longueval. 

Pauline  had  gone  on  before.  She  was  waiting  for 
Miss  Percival  in  the  shadow  behind  one  of  the  pilars. 


72  rilE    ABBJl    COXSTAX'I IX. 

By  a  steep  aiul  narrow  staircase  slie  led  Bettina  to  llie 
gallery  and  ]:)laced  her  before  the  haiinoniuin. 

P'-eceded  by  two  little  chorister-boys,  the  old  cure 
left  the  vestry,  ami  at  the  moment  when  he  knelt  on 
the  steps  of  the  altar,  "  Now,  miss,"  said  Pauline, 
whose  heart  beat  with  impatience.  "  Poor,  dear  man, 
how  pleased  he  will  be  !  " 

When  he  heard  the  sound  of  the  music  rise,  soft  as 
a  murmui-,  and  sj^read  through  the  little  church,  th.e 
Abbe  Constantin  was  filled  with  such  emotion,  such 
joy,  that  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes.  He  could  not 
reinembei'  having  wept  since  the  day  when  Jean  liad 
said  that  he  wished  to  share  all  that  he  possessed  with 
the  mother  and  sister  of  those  who  had  fallen  by  his 
father's  side  under  the  Prussian  bullets. 

To  bring  tears  to  the  eyes  of  the  old  priest  a  little 
American  had  been  brought  across  the  seas  to  play  a 
revery  of  Chopin  in  the  little  church  at  Longueval. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


The  next  day,  at  half-past  five  in  the  morning,  the 
bugle-call  rang  through  the  barrack-yard  at  Souvigny^ 
Jean  mounted  his  horse  and  took  his  place  wiih  his 
division.  By  the  end  of  May  all  the  recruits  in  the 
army  are  sufficiently  instructed  to  be  capable  of  shar- 
ing in  the  general  evolutions.  Almost  every  day 
manoeuvres  of  the  mounted  artillery  are  executed  on 
the  para(le-grou;ul.  Jean  loved  his  profession  ;  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  inspecting  carefully  the  grooming 
and  liarness  of  the  horses,  the  equipment  and  carriage 
of  his  men.  This  morning,  however,  he  ijestowed 
but  scant  attention  on  all  the  little  details  of  his  duty.. 

One  problem  agitated,  tormented  him,  and  left  him 
always  undecided  ;  and  this  problem  was  one  of  those 
the  solution  of  which  is  not  given  at  the  Ecole  Poly- 

73 


74  THE   ABBE    COXSTANTIiv. 

technique,  Jean  could  find  no  convincing  reply  to 
this  question:  "Which  of  the  two  sisters  is  the 
prettier  ?  " 

At  the  butls,  during  the  tirst  part  of  the  manoeuvre, 
each  battery  worked  on  its  own  account  inider  the 
ordtrs  of  the  captain;  hut  he  often  relinquished  the 
place  to  one  of  his  lieutenants,  in  order  to  accustom 
them  to  the  management  of  six  field-pieces.  It  ha])- 
pened  on  this  day  that  the  command  was  intrusteil 
to  the  hands  of  Jean.  To  the  great  surj)rise  of  the 
captain,  in  whose  estimation  his  lieutenant  held  the 
first  rank  as  a  well-trained,  smart,  and  capable  offict  r, 
everytliing  went  wrong.  The  captain  was  obliged  to 
interfeie.  He  addressetl  a  little  re[)rimand  to  Jean, 
which  terminated  in  these  words  : 

"  1  cannot  understand  it  at  all.  What  is  the  matter 
Avith  you  this  morning?  It  is  the  first  time  such 
ii  thing  has  haj')j:)ened  with  )ou." 

It  was  also  the  first  time  that  Jean  had  seen  any- 
thing at  the  butts  at  Souvigny  but  cannon,  ammuni- 
tion-wagons, horses,  or  gunners. 

In  the  clouds  of  dust  raised  by  the  wheels  of  the 
Avagons  and  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  Jean  beheld  not 
the  second  mounted  battery  of  the  ninth  legiment  of 
artillery,  but  the  distinct  images  of  two  Americans 
with  black  e\es  and  golden  hair  ;  and  at  the  moment 
when  he  listened  respectfully  to  the  well-merited 
lecture  from  l.is  captain,  h.e  was  in  the  act  of  sa)ing 
to  himself  : 

"  The  prettier  is  Mrs.  Scott  !  " 

Every   morning   the    exercise    is    divided    into    two 


THK   ABBE    COXSTANTIN.  75 

parts  by  a  little  interval  of  ten  niiiuites.  The  officers 
gathered  together  and  talked.  Jean  reniained  apart, 
alone  with  his  recoileciions  of  the  previous  evening. 
His  thoughts  obstinately  gathered  round  tlie  vicarage 
of  Longueval. 

"Yes!  the  more  charming  of  the  two  sisters  was 
Mrs.  Scott  ;    Miss  Pei'cival  was  only  a  child." 

He  saw  again  Mrs.  Scott  at  the  cure's  little  table. 
He  heard  her  story,  told  with  such  frankness,  such 
freedom.  The  harmony  of  that  very  peculiar,  very 
fascinating  voice  still  enchanted  his  ear.  He  was 
again  in  the  church.  She  was  there  befoie  him, 
bending  o\er  her  prie-Diei(,  her  pretty  head  I'esiing 
in  her  two  little  hands.  Then  the  music  arose,  and 
far  off  in  the  dusk  Jean  perceived  the  tine  anil  delicate 
profile  of  Betlina. 

"  A  child— was  she  only  a  child  ?  " 

The  trumpets  sounded,  the  joractice  recommenced  : 
this  time,  fortunately,  no  command,  no  responsibility. 
The  four  batteries  executed  tiieir  evolutions  together 
^this  immense  mass  of  men,  horses,  and  carriages, 
deployed  in  every  direction,  now  di'awn  out  in  a  long 
Hne,  again  collected  into  a  compact  group.  All 
stopped  at  the  same  instant  along  the  whole  extent  of 
the  ground  ;  the  gunners  sprang  from  their  horses, 
ran  to  their  pieces,  detached  each  from  its  team, 
which  went  off  at  a  trot,  and  prepared  to  lire  with 
amazing  rapidity.  Then  the  horses  returned,  the  men 
reattached  their  pieces,  sprang  quickly  to  saddle,  and 
the  regiment  started  at  full  gallop  across  the  field. 

Very  gently   in   the   thoughts  of  Jean   Bettina   re- 


76  THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIN. 

gained  her  advantage  over  Mrs.  Scott.  She  appeared 
to  him  smiling  and  bkishing  amid  the  sunUt  clouds  of 
her  floating  hair.  M.  Jean,  she  had  called  him, 
M.  Jean  ;  and  never  had  his  name  sounded  so  sweet. 
And  that  last  pressure  of  the  hand  on  taking  leave, 
before  entering  the  carriage:  had  not  Miss  Percival 
given  him  a  niore  cordial  clasp  than  Mrs.  Scott  had 
<lone  ?     Yes,  positively  a  little  more. 

"  I  was  mistaken,"  thought  Jean  ;  "  the  prettier  is 
Miss  Percival." 

The  day's  work  was  finished  ;  the  pieces  were 
ranged  regularly  in  line  one  behind  the  other.  They 
<lefiled  rapidly,  with  a  horrible  clatter,  and  in  a  cloud 
of  dust.  When  Jean,  sword  in  hand,  passed  before 
his  colonel,  the  images  of  the  two  sisters  were  so  con- 
fused and  intermingled  in  his  recollection  that  they 
melted  the  one  in  the  other,  and  became  in  some 
measure  the  image  of  one  and  the  same  person.  Any 
parallel  became  impossible  between  them,  thanks  to 
this  singular  confusion  of  the  two  points  of  com- 
parison. Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival  remained  thus 
inseparable  in  the  thoughts  of  Jean  until  the  day 
when  it  was  granted  to  him  to  see  them  again.  The 
impression  of  that  meeting  was  not  effaced  ;  it  was 
always  there,  persistent,  and  very  sweet,  till  Jean 
began  to  feel  disturbed. 

"  Is  it  possible,"— so  ran  his  meditations, — "  is  it 
possible  that  I  have  been  guilty  of  the  folly  of  falling 
in  love  madly  at  first  sight  ?  No.  One  might  fall  in 
love  with  a  woman,  but  not  with  two  women  at 
once." 


THE   ABBE    CONSTAN I I.W  77 

That  thought  reassured  him.  He  was  very  young-. 
this  great  fellow  of  four-aiul-twenty.  Never  had  love 
entered  fully  into  his  heart.  Love  !  He  knew  very 
little  about  it,  except  from  books,  and  he  had  read  but 
few  of  them.  But  he  was  no  angel.  He  could  findi 
plenty  of  attractions  in  the  grisetles  of  Souvigny. 
And  when  they  would  allow  him  to  tell  them  that  ihey 
were  charming,  he  was  quite  ready  to  do  so  ;  but  it 
had  never  entered  his  head  to  regard  as  love  those 
passing  fancies,  which  only  caused  the  slightest  and 
niost  superficial  disturbance  in  his  heart. 

Paul  de  Lavardens  had  marvellous  powers  of  enthu- 
siasm and  idealization.  His  heart  sheltered  always 
two  or  three  grandes  passions,  which  lived  there  in 
perfect  harmony.  Paul  had  been  so  clever  as  to  dis-^ 
cover  in  this  little  town  of  fifteen  thousand  souls  num- 
bers of  pretty  girls,  all  made  to  be  adored.  He  always 
believed  himself  the  discoverer  of  America,  when,  in 
fact,  he  had  done  nothing  but  follow  in  tlie  track  of 
othei'  navigators. 

'l"he  world — Jean  had  scarcely  encountered  it.  He 
had  allowed  himself  to  be  dragged  by  Paul  a  dozen 
times,  perhaps,  to  soirees  or  balls  at  the  great  houses 
of  the  neighborhood.  He  had  invariably  returned 
thoroughly  bored,  and  had  concluded  that  these 
pleasures  were  not  made  for  him.  His  tastes  were 
simple,  serious.  He  loved  solitude,  work,  long  walks, 
open  space,  horses,  and  books.  He  was  rather  savage 
— a  son  of  the  soil.  He  loved  his  village,  and  all  the 
old  friends  of  his  childhood.  A  quadrille  in  a  draw- 
ing room  caused   him   unspeakable   terror;  but  every 


7^>  THE   ABBE    COXSTAXTLV. 

year,  at  the  festix'al  of  the  patron  saint  of  Longueval, 
lie  danced  j^ayly  with  the  young'  girls  and  faimers' 
daughters  (A  the  neiglihorliooch 

If  he  had  seen  Mrs.  Scoit  and  Miss  Percival  at  home 
in  Paris  in  all  the  splenckn"  of  their  luxury,  in  all  tlie 
perfection  of  their  cosily  surroundings,  he  would  have 
looked  at  them  from  afar,  with  curiosity,  as  exquisite 
works  of  ait.  Then  he  would  have  returned  home, 
and  would  have  slept,  as  usual,  the  most  j)eacefid 
slumber  in  the  world. 

Yes,  but  it  was  not  thus  that  the  thing  had  conie  to 
pass,  and  hence  his  excitement,  hence  his  disturbance. 
These  two  women  had  shown  themselves  before  him 
in  the  midst  of  a  circle  with  which  he  was  familiar, 
and  which  had  been,  if  only  for  this  reason,  singularly 
favorable  to  them.  Simj)le,  good,  fi'ank,  cordial,  such 
they  had  shown  themselves  the  very  hrst  day,  and 
delightfully  pretty  into  the  bargain— a  fact  which  is 
never  insignificant.  Jean  fell  at  once  under  the  charm  ; 
he  was  there  still ! 

At  the  moment  when  he  dismounted  in  the  barrack- 
yard,  at  nine  o'clock,  the  old  i)riest  began  his  cam- 
paign joyously.  Since  the  previous  evening  the  abbe's 
head  had  been  on  tire.  Jean  had  not  slept  much  ;  but 
he  had  not  slept  at  all.  He  had  risen  very  early,  and 
with  closed  doors,  alone  with  Pauline,  he  had  counted 
and  reCDunted  his  money,  spreading  on  the  table  his 
hundred  lonis  d'or,  gloating  over  them  like  a  miser 
and,  like  a  miser,  finding  exquisite  pleasure  in  hand- 
ling his  hoard.  All  that  was  his!  for  him  !— that  is 
to  say,  for  the  poor. 


THE  ABBE  co.vsTAyivy.  79 

•*  Do  not  lie  too  lavish.  M.  le  Cure."  said  Pau- 
line ;  "  l)e  economical.  I  think  that  if  you  distribute 
to-dav  a  hunch'ed  francs " 

"  That  is  not  enoui^h,  Pauhne.  I  sliall  only  have 
one  such  day  in  my  hfe,  but  one  I  will  have.  How 
much  do  you  think  I  shall  qive  to-day  }  " 

"  How  much,  M.  le  Cure  ?  " 

"  A  thousand  francs." 

"  A  thousand  francs  !  " 

"  Yes.  We  are  millionnaires  now.  We  possess  all 
the  treasures  of  America;  and  you  talk  about  econ- 
omy.-' Not  to-day,  at  all  events;  indeed,  I  have  no 
ri^ht  to  think  of  it." 

After  saying-  mass,  at  nine  o'clock  he  set  out.  and 
showered  gold  along-  his  way.  All  had  a  share — the 
poor  who  acknowledged  their  poverty  and  those  who 
concealed  it.  Each  alms  was  accompanied  by  the 
same  little  discourse  : 

"  This  comes  from  the  new  owners  of  Longue- 
val— two  American  ladies,  Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss 
Percival.  Remember  their  names  and  pi'ay  for 
them." 

Then  he  made  off  without  waiting  for  thanks,  across 
the  fields,  through  the  woods,  from  hamlet  to  hamlet, 
from  cottage  to  cottage — on.  on,  on.  A  sort  of  intoxi- 
cation mounted  to  his  brain.  Everywhere  were  cries 
of  joy  and  astonishment.  All  these  lou/s  d'or  fell,  as 
if  by  a  miracle,  into  the  poor  hands  accustomed  to 
receive  little  pieces  of  silver.  The  cure  was  guilty  of 
follies — actual  follies.  He  was  out  of  bounds  ;  he 
did  not  recognize  himself.     He  had    lost  all    control 


3o  THE   ABBE    COXSTANTir^. 

over   Iiiinself;    lie    even  gave    to    those  who    did  not 
■expect  anything. 

He  met  Chiude  Rigal,  tlie  old  sergeant,  who  had  left 
•one  of  his  ai'ins  at  Sehastopol.  He  was  growing  gray 
•—nay,  white,  for  time  passes,  and  the  soldiers  of  the 
Crimea  will  soon  be  old  men. 

*'  Here  !"  said  the  cure,  "  I  have  twenty  francs  for 
you." 

"  Twentv  francs  !  15ut  I  ne\'er  asked  for  anything  ; 
I  don't  want  anvthing;   I  have  mv  pension." 

His  pension  !     Seven  hundred  francs  ! 

"  But  hsten  ;  it  will  be  something  to  buy  you  cigars. 
It  conies  from  America." 

And  then  followed  the  abbe's  little  speech  about 
the  owners  of  Longueval. 

He  went  to  a  i)oor  woman,  whose  son  had  gone 
to  Tunis. 

"  Well,  how  is  your  son  getting  on  ?  " 

"Not  so  bad,  M.  le  Cure.  I  had  a  letter  fiom 
him  yesterday.  He  do^s  not  complain  ;  he  is  very 
well,  oidy  he  says  there  are  no  Kroomirs.  Poor 
boy!  I  have  been  saving  for  a  month,  and  I  think  I 
shall  soon  be  able  to  send  him  ten  francs." 

"You  shall  send  him  thirty.     Take  this." 

"  Twenty  francs  !  M.  le  Cure,  you  give  me 
twenty    francs  ?  " 

"  Yes.  that  is  for  you." 

"  For  my  boy  ?  " 

"  For  your  boy.  But  listen  ;  you  must  know  from 
\vhorn  it  comes,  and  you  must  take  care  to  tell  yom 
son  when  vou  write  to  him." 


THE   ABBE    COX  ST  AX  TIN.  '^2y 

Ag-ain  the  little  speech  alxnit  the  new  owners  of 
Longueval,  and  again  the  adjutation  to  remember 
them  ill  their  pra\ers.  At  six  o'clock  he  returned 
home,  exhausted  with  fatigue,  but  with  his  soul  tilled 
with  joy. 

"I  have  given  away  all  !  "  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he 
saw  Pauline  ;  "  all  !  all  !  all  !  " 

He  dined,  and  then  went  in  the  evening  to  perform 
the  usual  service  for  the  month  of  Mary.  But  this 
time  the  harmonium  was  silent  ;  Miss  Percival  was 
no  longer  there. 

The  little  organist  of  tlie  evening  before  was  at  that 
moMient  much  pei'plexed.  On  two  couches  in  her 
dressing  room  wei'e  spread  two  dresses— a  white  and 
a  blue.  Bettina  was  meditating  which  of  these  two 
dresses  she  would  wear  to  go  to  the  opeia  that  even- 
ing. After  long  hesitation  she  fixed  on  the  blue.  At 
half-past  nine  the  two  sisters  ascended  the  grand  stair- 
case at  the  Opera  House.  Just  as  they  entered  their 
box  the  curtain  rose  on  the  second  scene  of  the  sec- 
ond act  of  "Aida  " — that  containing  the  ballet  and 
march. 

Two  young  men,  Roger  de  Puymartin  and  Louis 
(le  Martillet,  were  seated  in  the  front  of  a  stage-box. 
The  young  ladies  of  the  corps  de  ballet  had  not  yet 
appeared,  and  these  gentlemen,  luiving  no  occupa- 
tion, were  amusing  themselves  with  looking  about  the 
house.  The  appearance  of  Miss  Percival  made  a 
strong  impression  upon  both. 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  "  said  Puymartin,  "  there  she  is,  the 
little  goUlen  nugget  I  " 


34  THE   ABBE    COXS  lA^TIN. 

"  She  is  perfectly  dazzlini^  ibis  evening,  this  little 
golden  nugget,"  continued  Martillet.  "  Look  at  her, 
at  the  line  of  her  neck,  the  fall  of  her  shoulders — still 
a  young  girl,  and  already  a  woman." 

"  Yes,  she  is  charming,  and  tolerably  well  off  into 
the  bargain." 

'•  Fifteen  millions  of  her  own,  and  the  silver  mine  is 
still  i)roduciive." 

"  Berulle  told  me  twenty-five  millions,  and  he  is  very 
well  up  in  American  affairs." 

"Twenty-five  millions  I  A  pretty  haid  foi'  Roman- 
elli!" 

"What.^     Romanelli  !  " 

"  Report  says  that  that  will  be  a  match  ;  that  it  is 
already  settled." 

"  A  match  may  be  arranged,  but  with  Montessan, 
not  with  Romanelli.    Ah,  at  last  !    Here  is  the  ballet." 

They  ceasetl  to  talk.  The  ballet  in  "  Aida  "  oidy 
lasts  tive  n)inutes,  and  for  those  five  minutes  they  had 
come.  Consequently  they  must  be  enjoyed  respect- 
fully, religiously,  for  there  is  that  i)eculiarity  among  a 
number  of  the  habitues  of  the  opera  that  they  chatter 
like  magpies  when  they  ought  to  be  silent  to  listen, 
and  that  they  observe  t  i-  .nost  absolute  silence  when 
they  might  be  allowed  to  speak  while  looking  on. 

The  trumpets  of  "  Aida  "  liad  given  their  last  heroic 
fail/are  in  honor  of  Rhadames  before  the  great 
sphinxes  under  the  green  foliage  of  the  palm-trees  ; 
the  dancers  advanced,  the  light  trembling  on  their 
spangled  robes,  and  took  possession  of  the  stage. 

With    much    attention    and    pleasure    Mrs.    Scott 


THE  ABBE  coxs'iwxriiW  87 

followed  the  evolutions  of  the  ballet,  but  Bettina  had 
suddenly  become  thoughtful,  on  perceiving  in  a  box 
on  the  other  side  of  the  house  a  tall,  dark  young 
man.      Miss  Percival  talked  to  herself,  and  said  : 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  What  shall  I  decide  on  ?  Must 
I  marry  him,  that  handsome,  tall  fellow  over  there, 
who  is  watching  me,  for  it  is  me  that  he  is  looking  at? 
He  will  come  into  our  box  directly  this  act  is  ovt  r,  and 
then  I  have  only  to  say,  *  I  have  decided.  There  is  my 
hand  ;  I  will  be  your  wife,'  and  then  all  would  be  set- 
tled !  1  should  be  Princess!  Princess  Romanelli  ! 
Princess  Beitina  !  Bettina  Romanelli!  The  names 
go  well  together;  they  sound  very  pretty.  Would  it 
amuse  me  to  be  a  princess  ?  Yes,  and  no  !  Among 
all  the  young  men  in  Paris  who  during  the  last  year 
have  run  after  my  money  this  Prince  Romanelli  is  the 
one  who  pleases  me  best.  One  of  these  days  I  must 
make  up  my  mind  to  maiiy.  I  think  he  loves  me. 
Yes  ;  but  the  question  is,  Do  I  love  him  ?  No,  I  don't 
think  I  do,  and  1  should  so  much  like  to  love — so 
much,  so  much  !  " 

At  the  precise  moment  when  these  reflections  were 
passing  through  Bettina's  pretty  head  Jean,  alone  in 
his  study,  seated  before  his  desk  with  a  great  book 
under  the  shade  of  his  lamp,  looked  through,  and  took 
notes  of,  the  campaigns  of  Turenne.  He  had  been 
directed  to  give  a  course  of  instruction  to  the  non- 
commissioned officers  of  the  regiment,  and  was 
prudently  preparing  his  lesson   iox  the  next  day. 

But  in  the  midst   of  his   notes — Nordlingen,    1645  I 


83 


THE    ABBE    COX  STAN  TIN. 


— lie  suddenly  perceived  (Jean  did  not  draw  very 
badly)  a  sketch,  a  woman's  portrait,  which  all  at  once 
appeared  under  his  pen.  What  was  she  doing  there 
in  the  middle  of  Turenne's  victories,  this  pretty  little 
woman  ?  And  then  who  was  she  — Mrs.  Scott  or  Miss 
Pcrcival  }  How  could  he  tell  ?  They  resembled  each 
other  so  much  ;  and  laboriously  Jean  returned  to  the 
history  of  ihe  campaigns  of  Turenne. 

And  at  the  same  moment  the  Abbe  Constantin,  on 
his  knees  befoie  his  little  wooden  bedstead,  called 
down  with  all  the  strength  of  jiis  soul  the  blessin<i^s  of 
Heaven  on  the  two  women  through  whose  bounty  he 
had  passed  such  a  sweet  and  happy  day.  He  prayed 
God  to  blfss  Mrs.  Scott  in  lu  r  children,  and  to  give 
to  Miss  Percival  a  husband  after  her  own  heart. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Formerly  Paris  belonged  to  the  Parisians,  and 
that  at  no  very  remote  period — thirty  or  forty  years 
ago.  At  that  epoch  the  French  were  the  masters  of 
Paris,  as  the  Enghsh  are  tlie  masters  of  London,  the 
Spaniards  of  Madrid,  and  the  Russians  of  St.  Peters- 
burg. Those  times  are  no  more.  Other  countries 
still  have  their  frontiers  ;  tiiere  are  now  none  to 
France.  Paris  has  become  an  immense  Babel,  a  uni- 
versal and  international  city.  Foreigners  do  not  only 
come  to  visit  Paris  ;  they  come  here  to  live.  At  the 
present  d;iy  we  have  in  P;iris  a  Russian  colony,  a 
Spanish  colony,  a  Levantine  colony,  an  American 
colony.     The  foreigners  have  already  conquered  from 


90  THE   ABBE    CO  i\  STAN  TIN. 

us  the  greater  part  of  the  Champs-EIysees  and  the 
Boulevard  Malesherbes.  They  advance  ;  they  extend 
their  outworks;  we  retreat,  pressed  back  by  the 
invaders;  we  are  obhged  to  expatriate  ourselves.  We 
have  begun  to  found  Parisian  colonies  in  the  plains  of 
Passy,  in  the  plain  of  Monceau,  in  quarters  v.hich 
formerly  were  not  Paris  at  all,  and  which  are  not  quite 
even  now.  Among  the  foreign  colonies  the  richest, 
the  most  populous,  the  most  brilliant,  is  the  American 
colony.  There  is  a  moment  when  an  Ameiican 
feels  himself  rich  enough,  a  Frenchman  ne\er.  The 
American  then  stoi)s,  draws  breath,  and  while  still 
husbanding  the  cai)ital,  no  longer  spares  the  income. 
He  knows  how  to  spend  ;  the  Frenchman  knows  only 
how  to  save. 

The  Frenchman  has  only  one  real  luxury — his 
revolutions.  Prudently  and  wisely  he  reserves  him- 
self for  tiiem,  knowing  well  that  they  will  cost  France 
dear,  but  that  at  the  same  time  they  will  furnish 
the  opportunity  for  advantageous  investments.  The 
Frenchman  says  to  himself: 

"  Let  us  hoard  !  let  us  hoard  I  let  us  hoard  I  Some 
of  these  mornings  there  will  be  a  revolution,  which 
w'ill  make  the  five  per  cents  fall  fifty  or  sixty  francs. 
I  will  buy  then.  Since  revolutions  are  inevitable,  let 
us  try  at  least  to  make  them  profitable." 

They  are  always  talking  about  the  jieople  who  are 
ruined  by  revolutions  ;  but  ])erhaps  the  number  of 
those  enriched  by  revolutions  is  still  greater. 

Tiie  Americans  experience  the  attraction  of  Paris 
very  strongly.     There  is  no  town  in  the  world  where 


THE   ABBE    CONSTAXTIN'.  9^ 

it  is  easier  or  more  agreeable  to  spend  a  great  deal 
of  money.  For  many  reasons,  both  of  race  and 
origin,  this  attraction  exei-cised  over  Mrs.  Scott  and 
Miss  Percival  a  very  remarkable  power. 

The  most  French  of  our  colonies  is  Canada,  which 
is  no  longer  ours.  The  recollection  of  their  hist  home 
has  been  preserved  faithfully  and  tenderly  in  the 
hearts  of  the  emigrants  to  Montreal  and  Quebec. 
Suzie  Percival  had  received  from  !ier  n)other  an 
entirely  French  education,  and  she  had  brought  up' 
her  sister  in  the  same  love  of  our  country.  The  two- 
sisters  felt  themselves  Frenchwomen,  still  better, 
Parisians.  As  soon  as  the  avalancb.e  of  dollars  had 
descended  upon  them  the  same  desire  seized  them 
both — to  come  and  live  in  Paris.  They  demanded 
France  as  if  it  had  been  their  fatherland.  Mr.  Scott 
made  some  opposition. 

"  If  I  go  away  from  here,"  he  said,  "  your  incomes- 
will  suffer." 

"What  does  that  matter  .^ "  replied  Suzie.  "We 
are  rich— too  rich.  Do  let  us  go.  We  shall  be 
so    hajipy,  so  delighted  !  " 

Mr.  Scott  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  ;  and  at 
the  beginning  of  January,  1880,  Suzie  v.  rote  the  fol- 
lowing letter  to  her  friend,  Katie  Norton,  who  had 
lived  in  Paris  for  some  years  : 

"  Victory  !  It  is  decided  !  Richard  has  consented. 
I  shall  arrive  in  April,  and  become  a  Frenchwoman 
again.  You  offered  to  undertake  all  the  preparations 
for  our  settlement  in  Paris.     I  am  horribly  presum- 


92  THE   ABBE    COX  STAN  TIN. 

ing^ — I  accept  !  When  I  arrive  in  Paris,  I  should  like 
to  be  able  to  enjoy  Paris,  and  not  be  obliged  to  lose 
my  first  month  in  running  after  upholsterers,  coach- 
builders,  horse-dealers.  I  should  like,  on  arriving  at 
the  railway  station,  to  find  awaiting  me  my  carriage, 
Jiiy  coachman,  my  horses.  That  very  day  I  should 
like  you  to  dine  with  me  at  my  home.  Hire  or  buy  a 
mansion,  engage  the  servants,  choose  the  horses,  the 
•carriages,  the  liveries.  I  depend  entirely  upon  you. 
As  long  as  the  liveries  are  blue,  that  is  the  only  point. 
This  line  is  added  at  the  request  of  Bettina. 

"  We  shall  only  bring  seven  persons  with  us. 
Richard  will  have  his  valet,  Bettina  and  I  two  ladies' 
maids  ;  then  there  are  the  two  governesses  for  the 
■children,  and  beside  these,  two  boys,  Toby  and 
Bobby,  who  ride  to  perfection.  We  sb.ould  never  find 
in  Paris  such  a  perfect  pair. 

"  Everything  else,  people  and  things,  we  shall  leave 
in  New  York.  No,  not  quite  everything ;  I  had  for- 
•gotten  four  little  ponies,  four  little  gems,  black  as  ink. 
We  have  not  the  heart  to  leave  tliem.  We  shall 
<lrive  them  in  the  piiaeton  ;  it  is  delightful.  Both 
Bettina  and  I  drive  four-in-hand  very  well.  Ladies 
can  drive  four-in-hand  in  the  '  Bois  '  very  early  in  the 
morning",  can't  they?     Here  it  is  quite  possible. 

"  Above  all,  my  dear  Katie,  do  not  consider  money. 
Be  as  extravagant  as  you  like,  that  is  all  I  ask." 

The  same  day  that  Mrs.  Norton  received  this  letter 
M'itnessed  the  failure  of  a  certain  Garneville.  He  was 
a  great   speculator  who   had   been  on   a   false  scent. 


THE   ABBE    COXSTAXTiy.  93 

Stocks  liad  fallen  just  when  he  had  expected  a  rise. 
This  Garneville  had,  six  weeks  before,  installed  him- 
self in  a  brand-new  house,  which  had  no  other  fault 
than  a  too  startling  magnificence. 

Mrs.  Norton  signed  an  agreement — one  hundred 
thousand  francs  a  year,  with  the  option  of  buying 
house  and  furniture  for  two  millions  during  the  first 
year  of  possession.  A  famous  upholsterer  undertoolc 
to  correct  and  subdue  the  exaggerated  splendor  of  a. 
loud  and  gorgeous  luxury. 

That  done,  Mrs.  Scott's  friend  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  lay  her  hand  on  two  of  those  eminent  artists 
without  whom  the  routine  of  a  great  house  can 
neither  be  established  nor  carried  on.  The  first  was 
a  <r//^  of  the  first  rank,  who  had  just  left  an  ancient 
mansion  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  to  his  great 
regret,  for  he  had  aristocratic  inclinations. 

"  Never,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Norton,  "  never  would  I 
have  left  the  service  of  Mme.  la  Duchesse  if  she  had 
kept  up  her  establishment  on  tlie  same  footing  as 
formerly;  but  Mine,  la  Duchesse  has  four  children  — 
two  sons  who  have  run  through  a  good  deal,  and 
two  daugiuers  who  will  soon  be  of  an  age  to  marry  ;. 
they  must  have  their  dowries.  Therefore  Mme.  la 
Uachesse  is  obliged  to  draw  in  a  little,  aifd  the  house 
is  no  longer  important  enough  for  me." 

This  distinguished  character  of  course  made  his 
conditions.  Though  excessive,  they  did  not  alarm 
Mrs.  Norton,  who  knew  that  he  was  a  man  of  the 
most  serious  merit ;  but  he,  before  deciding,  asked 
pernussion  to  telegraph  to  New  York.     He  wished  to 


94  THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN. 

make  certain  inquiries.  Tlie  repl}'  was  favorable  ;  he 
accepted. 

The  second  great  artist  was  a  stud-groom  of  the 
rarest  and  highest  caiiacity,  who  was  just  about  to 
retire  after  having  made  liis  fortune.  He  consented, 
iiov^'ever,  to  organize  the  stables  for  Mrs.  Scott.  It 
was  thoroughly  understood  that  he  should  have  every 
liberty  in  purchasing  the  horses  ;  that  he  should  wear 
no  livery  ;  that  he  should  choose  the  coachmen,  the 
grooms,  and  everyone  connected  with  the  stables  ; 
that  he  should  never  have  less  than  fifteen  horses  in 
the  stables  ;  that  no  bargain  should  be  made  with  the 
coach-builder  or  saddler  without  his  intervention  ;  and 
that  he  should  never  mount  the  box,  except  early  in 
the  morning,  in  plain  clothes,  to  give  lessons  in  driv- 
ing to  the  ladies  and  children  if  necessary. 

The  cook  took  possession  of  his  stores,  and  the 
stud-groom  of  his  stables.  Everythiitg  else  was  only 
a  question  of  money,  and  with  regaici  to  this  Mrs. 
Norton  made  full  use  of  her  extensive  powers.  She 
acted  in  conformity  with  the  instructions  she  had 
received.  In  the  short  space  of  two  months  she  per- 
formed prodigies,  and  that  is  how,  when  on  tiie  15th 
of  April,  1880,  Mr.  Scott,  Suzie,  and  Betlina  alighted 
from  the  mail  train  from  Havre,  at  half-past  four  in 
the  afternoon,  they  found  Mrs.  Norton  at  the  station 
of  Saint-Lazare,  who  said  : 

"  Your  caJeche  is  there  in  the  yard  ;  behind  it  is  a 
landau  for  the  children  ;  and  behind  the  landau  is  an 
omnibus  for  the  servants.  The  three  carriages  bear 
your  monogram,  are  driven    by  your  coachmen,  and 


THE   ABBE    COXSl AXTIN.  95 

drawn  by  your  horses.  Your  address  is  24  Rue 
Murillo,  and  here  is  the  menu  of  your  dinner  to-night. 
You  invited  me  two  montiis  ago  ;  I  accept,  and  will 
even  take  the  liberty  of  bringing  a  dozen  friends  with 
me.  I  shall  furnish  everything,  even  the  guests. 
But  do  not  be  alarmed,  you  know  them  all.  They 
are  mutual  friends  ;  and  this  evening  we  siiall  be  able 
to  judge  of  the  merits  of  your  cook." 

The  tirst  Parisian  who  had  the  honor  and  pleasure 
of  paying  homage  to  the  beauty  of  Mrs.  Scott  and 
Miss  Percival  was  a  little  niarmiton  of  fifteen  years 
old,  who  stood  there  in  his  white  clothes,  his  wicker 
basket  on  his  head,  at  the  moment  when  Mrs.  Scott's 
carriage,  entangled  in  the  multitude  of  vehicles,  slowly 
worked  its  way  out  of  the  station.  The  little  cook 
stopped  short  on  the  pavement,  opened  wide  his  eyes, 
looked  at  the  two  sisters  with  amazement,  and  boldly 
cast  full  in  their  faces  the  single  word  : 

''Mazette  !  " 

When  Mme.  Recamier  saw  her  first  wrinkles  and 
first  gray  hairs,  she  said  to  a  friend  : 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  there  are  no  more  illusions  left  for 
me!  From  the  day  when  I  saw  that  the  little  chim- 
ney sweeps  no  longer  turned  round  in  the  street  to 
look  at  me  I  understood  that  all  was  over." 

The  opinion  of  the  confectioners'  boys  is  in  similar 
cases  of  equal  value  with  the  oi)inion  of  the  little 
chimney-sweeps.  All  was  not  over  for  Suzie  and 
Bettina  ;  on  the  contrary,  all  was  only  beginning. 

Five  minutes  later,  Mrs.  Scott's  carriage  was 
ascending  the  Boulevard  Haussmann  to  the  slow  and 


96  THE  ABBE   COXSI'ANriN, 

measured  trot  of  a  pair  of  admirable  horses.  Paris 
counted  two  Parisians  the  more. 

The  success  of  Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival  was 
hiunechate,  decisive,  hke  a  fiasii  of  hghtning.  The 
benuties  of  Paris  are  not  classed  and  catalogued  like 
the  t)eauties  of  London  ;  they  do  not  publish  their 
portraits  in  the  illustrated  papers,  or  allow  their  photo- 
graphs to  be  sold  at  the  stationers'.  However,  there 
is  always  a  little  staff,  consisting  of  a  score  of  women, 
who  represent  the  grace  and  charm  and  beauty  of 
Paris,  which  women,  after  ten  or  twelve  years'  ser- 
vice, pass  into  the  reserve,  just  like  the  old  generals. 
Suzie  and  Bettina  immediately  became  part  of  this 
little  staff.  It  was  an  affair  of  four-and-twenty 
hours  —  of  less  than  four-and-twenty  hours,  for  all 
passed  between  eight  in  the  morning  and  midnight, 
the  da}-  after  their  arrival  in  Paris. 

Imagine  a  sort  of  little  feei'ie,  in  three  acts,  of 
whicii  the  success  increases  from  tableau  to  tableau. 

1st.  A  ride  at  ten  in  the  morning  in  the  Bois,  with 
the  two  marvellous  grooms  imported   from   America. 

2(1.  A  walk  at  si.K  o'clock  in  the  Allee  des 
Acacias. 

3d.  An  appearance  at  tlie  opera  at  ten  in  the 
evening  in  Mrs.  Norton's  box. 

Tile  two  novelties  were  immediately  remaiked,  and 
<appreciated  as  they  deserved  to  be,  by  the  th.iity  or 
forty  persons  who  constitute  a  sort  of  mysterious 
tribunal,  and  who,  in  the  name  of  all  Paris,  pass  sen- 
tences beyond  appeal.  These  thirty  or  forty  persons 
have  from  time    to    time   the  fancy   to  deckire  "  deli- 


THE   ABBE    COX  STAN  TIN-.  97 

cious  "  some  woman  who  is  manifestly  ugly.  That  is 
enough  ;    she  is  "  delicious  "  from  that  moment. 

Tile  i)eauty  of  the  two  sisters  was  unquestionable. 
In  the  morning  it  was  their  grace,  their  elegance,  their 
distinction,  that  attracted  universal  admiration  ;  in  the 
afternoon  it  was  declared  that  their  walk  had  the  free- 
dom <md  ease  of  two  young  goddesses;  in  the  evening 
there  was  but  one  ci'y  of  rapture  at  the  ideal  ])erfec- 
tion  of  their  shoulders.  From  that  moment  all  Paris 
had  for  the  two  sisters  the  eyes  of  the  little  pastry- 
cook of  the  Rue  d'Amsterdam  ;  all  Paris  repeated  his 
"  il/.?;?^//*?,"  though  naturally  witii  the  variations  and 
developments  imposed  by  the  usages  of  the  world. 

Mrs.  Scott's  drawing  room  immediately  became  the 
fashion.  The  habitues  of  three  or  four  great  American 
houses  transferred  themselves  in  a  body  to  the  Scotts', 
who  had  three  hundred  persons  at  their  first  Wednes- 
day. Their  circle  rapidly  increased  ;  there  was  a  little 
of  everything  to  be  found  in  their  set — Americans, 
Spaniards,  Italians,  Hungarians,  Russians,  and  e\en 
Parisians. 

When  she  had  related  her  history  to  the  Abbe  Con- 
stantin,  Mrs.  Scott  had  not  told  all;  one  never  does 
tell  all.  In  a  word,  she  was  a  coquette.  Mr.  Scott 
had  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  his  wife,  and  left 
her  entire  liberty.  He  showed  himself  very  little  ;  he 
was  an  Jionorable  man,  who  felt  a  vague  embari'ass- 
ment  at  having  made  such  a  marriage,  at  having  mar- 
ried so  much  money.  Having  a  taste  for  business,  he 
had  great  pleasure  in  de\"oting  himself  entirely  to  the 
administering"    of    the   two    imnicrnse    fortunes    which 


98  THE   A  DDE    CONSTAXIIX. 

were  in  his  liaiuls,  in  continually  incieasii  g  them,  and 
in  saying  every  year  to  his  wife  and  sisler-in  law  : 

"  You  aie  still  richer  than  \  ou  weie  last  yeai." 

Not  content  with  watching"  with  much  j^iudence  and 
ahiliiy  ovcf  the  inteiests  which  he  had  h^ft  in  Aniei'ica, 
he  launched  in  France  into  laige  speculations,  and  was 
as  successful  in  Paiis  as  lie  had  been  in  New  'S'oik. 
In  order  to  make  money  the  first  thing  is  to  have  no 
need  of  it. 

They  made  love  to  Mrs.  Scott  to  an  enormciis 
extent.  They  made  lo\'e  to  her  in  French,  in  Italian, 
in  English,  in  Spanish,  for  she  knew  those  four  lan- 
guages, and  there  is  one  advantage  that  foreigners 
have  over  our  poor  Parisians,  who  generally  ki  ow 
only  their  mother  tongue,  and  have  not  the  resouice 
of  international  passions. 

Natiu-ally  Mrs.  Scott  did  not  chase  her  adorers  from 
her  i)resence.  She  had  ten,  twenty,  thirty  at  a  time. 
No  one  could  boast  of  any  preference  ;  to  all  she 
opposed  the  same  amiable,  laughing",  joyous  resist- 
ance. It  was  clear  to  all  that  the  game  amused  her, 
and  that  she  did  not  for  a  moment  take  it  seri(  usiy. 
Mr.  Scott  never  felt  a  moment's  anxiety,  and  he  was 
perfectly  right.  More,  he  enjoyed  his  wife's  suc- 
cesses ;  he  was  happy  in  seeing  her  ha])py.  He  loxed 
her  dearly,  a  little  more  than  she  loved  him.  She 
loved  him  very  much,  and  that  was  all,  Theie  is  a 
great  difference  between  "dearly  "  and  "very  much  " 
when  these  two  adverbs  are  placed  after  the  verb  "  to 
love." 

As  to  Bettina,  around  her  was  a  madderiing  whirl, 


THE   ABBE   COySTAXTLV.  99 

an  org'v  of  adulation  !  Such  fortunel  such  beauty  ! 
Miss  Percival  arrived  in  Paris  on  the  15th  of  April  ;  a 
fortnight  had  not  passed  before  the  offers  of  marriage 
begin  to  j)0ur  upon  her.  In  the  course  of  that  first 
year  she  might,  had  she  wished  it.  have  been 
married  thirty-four  times,  and  to  what  a  variety  of 
suitors  ! 

They  asked  her  hand  for  a  young  exile,  who  under 
certain  circumstances  might  be  called  to  ascend  a 
throne— a  very  small  one,  it  is  true,  but  a  throne 
nevertheless. 

They  asked  her  hand  for  a  young  duke,  who  would 
make  a  great  figure  at  court  when  France — as  was 
inevitable— should  recognize  her  errors,  and  bow 
down   before  her  legitimate  masteis. 

They  asked  her  hand  for  a  young  ])rince,  who  would 
have  a  place  on  the  steps  of  the  throne  wiien  France 
— as  was  inevitable— should  again  knit  together  the 
chain  of  the  Napoleonic  traditions. 

They  asked  her  hand  for  a  30ung  Republican  deputy, 
who  had  just  made  a  most  brilliant  debut  in  the 
Chamber,  and  for  whom  the  future  reserved  tlie  most 
splendid  destiny,  for  the  Republic  was  now  established 
in  France  on  the  most  indestructible  basis. 

They  asked  her  hand  for  a  young  Spaniard  of  the 
purest  lineage,  and  she  was  given  to  understand  that 
the  contrat  would  be  signed  in  the  palace  of  a  queen 
who  does  not  live  far  from  the  Arc  de  Triomphe. 
Besides,  one  can  find  her  address  in  the  "  Almanach 
Bottin,"  for  at  the  present  day  there  are  queens  who 
have  their  addresses   in   Bottin  between  an   attoriiey 


lOO  7V//:    ABBE    COX  ST  AX  TIN. 

and  a  druggist ;  it  is  only  the  kings  of  France  who  no 
longer  live  in  France. 

They  asked  her  hand  for  the  son  of  a  peer  of  Eng- 
land, and  for  the  son  of  a  member  of  the  highest 
Viennese  aristocracy;  for  the  son  of  a  Parisian  banker, 
and  for  the  son  of  a  Russian  ambassador;  for  a 
Hungarian  count,  and  for  an  Italian  prince;  and  also 
for  various  excellent  young  men  who  were  nothing  and 
had  nothing, — neither  name  nor  fortune, — but  Bettina 
had  granted  thein  a  waltz,  and,  believing  themselves 
irresistible,  they  hoped  that  they  had  caused  a  flutter 
of  that  little  heart. 

But  up  to  the  i^resent  moment  nothing  had  touched 
that  little  heait,  and  the  reply  had  been  the  same  to 
all  :  "  No  !  no  !  "  again  "  No  I  "  always  "  No  ! " 

Some  days  after  that  performance  of '*Aida"the 
two  sisters  had  a  rather  long  conversation  on  this 
great,  this  eternal  question  of  marriage.  A  certain 
name  had  been  pronounced  by  Mrs.  Scott  which  h.ad 
provoked  on  the  part  of  Miss  Percival  the  most  decided 
and  most  energetic  refusal,  and  Suzie  had  laughingly 
said  to  her  sistei- : 

"  But,  Bettina,  you  will  be  obliged  to  end  bv 
marrying." 

"  Yes,  certainly  ;  but  I  should  be  so  sorry  to  marry 
without  love.  It  seems  to  me  that  before  I  could 
resolve  to  do  such  a  thing  I  must  be  in  danger  of 
dying  an  old  maid,  and  I  am  not  yet  that." 

"  No,  not  yet." 

"  Let  us  wait,  let  us  wait." 

"  Let  us  wait.     But  among  all  these  lovers  w^hom 


THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN.  JOI 

you   have  been  dragging  after  you  for  the   last  year 
tliere  have  been  some  very  nice,  very  amiable;  and  it 

is  really  a  Httle  strange  if  none  of  them " 

"  None,  my  Suzie,  none,  absolutely  none.  Why 
should  I  not  tell  you  the  truth?  Is  it  their  fault? 
Have  they  gone  unskilfully  to  work?  Could  they,  in 
managing  better,  have  found  the  way  to  my  heart,  or 
is  the  fault  in  me?  Is  it  perhaps  that  the  way  to  my 
heart  is  a  steep,  rocky,  inaccessible  way,  by  which  no 
one  will  ever  pass  ?  Am  I  a  horrid  little  creature, 
arid,  cold,  and  condemned  never  to  love?  " 
"  I  do  not  think  so." 

"  Neither  do  I  ;  but  up  to  the  present  time  that  is 
my  history.  No,  I  have  never  felt  anything  which 
resembled  love.  You  are  laughing,  and  I  can  guess 
why.  You  are  saying  to  yourself:  'A  little  giii  like 
that  pretending  to  know  what  love  is!'  You  are 
right  ;  I  do  not  know,  but  I  have  a  pretty  good  idea. 
To  love— is  it  not  to  prefer  to  all  in  the  world  one 
cei  tain  person  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  really  tliat." 

"  Is  it  not  never  to  weary  of  seeing  tliat  person  or 
of  hearing  him  ?  Is  it  not  to  cease  to  live  when  he 
is  not  theie,  and  to  immediately  begin  to  revive  when 
he  reappears  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  but  this  is  romantic  love." 
"  Well,  that  is  the  love  of  which  I  dream,  and 
that  is  the  love  which  does  not  come — not  at  all 
till  now;  and  yet  that  person  preferred  by  me  to 
all  and  everythang  dees  exist.  Do  you  know  who 
it  is  ?  " 


I02  THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN. 

"  No,  I  do  not  know;  I  do  not  know,  but  I  have  a 
little  suspicion." 

"  Yes,  it  is  you,  my  dearest ;  and  it  is  perhaps  you, 
naugiity  sister,  who  make  me  so  insensible  and  cruel 
on  this  point.  I  love  you  too  much  ;  you  fill  my 
heart.  You  have  occupied  it  entirely  ;  there  is  no 
room  for  anyone  else.  Prefer  anyone  to  you  !  love 
anyone  more  than  you !  That  will  never,  never 
be'l  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  will." 

"  Oh,  no  !  Love  differently,  perhaps,  but  more — 
no.  He  must  not  count  upon  that,  this  gentleman 
whom  I  expect,  and  who  does  not  arrive." 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  my  Betty  ;  there  is  room  in  your 
heart  for  all  whom  you  should  love — for  your  hus- 
band, for  your  children,  and  that  without  your  old 
sister  losing  anything.  The  heart  is  very  liltle,  but  it 
is  also  very  large." 

Bettina  tenderly  embraced  her  sister;  then,  resting 
her  head  coaxingly  on  Suzie's  shoulder,  she  said  :  "  If, 
however,  you  are  tired  of  keeping  me  with  you,  if  you 
are  in  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me,  do  }ou  know  wliat  I 
will  do  }  I  will  put  the  names  of  two  of  these  gen- 
tlemen in  a  basket,  and  draw  lots.  There  are  two 
who  at  the  last  extren)ity  would  not  be  absolutely 
disngreeable." 

"  Which  two  ?  " 

"  Guess." 

"  Prince  Romanelii." 

"  For  one.     And  the  other  ?  " 

"  M.  de  Montessan." 


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■' 

_J 

THE   ABBE    COX  SI' A  XI IX.  IC5 

"Those  are  the  two!  It  is  just  that.  Those  two 
would  be  acceptal)le,  but  only  acceptable,  and  that  is 
not  enough." 

Tiiis  is  why  Bettina  awaited  with  extreme  impa- 
tience the  day  when  they  should  leave  Paris,  and  take 
up  their  abode  in  Longueval.  She  was  a  little  tired  of 
so  much  pleasure,  so  much  success,  so  many  offei'S  of 
marriage.  The  whirl |)ool  of  Parisian  gayety  had 
seized  her  on  her  arrival  and  would  not  let  her  go,  not 
for  one  hour  of  halt  or  rest.  She  felt  the  need  of 
being  given  up  to  herself  for  a  few  days,  to  herself 
alone,  to  consult  and  question  herself  at  her  leisure,  in 
the  complete  solitude  of  the  country — in  a  word,  to> 
belong  to  herself  again. 

Was  not  Bettina  all  sprightly  and  joyous  when  on 
the  14th  of  June  they  took  the  train  for  Longueval  ?' 
As  soon  as  she  was  alone  in  a  coupe  with  her  sister, 
"  Ah  !  "  she  crit  d.  "  how  happy  I  am  !  Let  us  breathe 
a  little,  quite  alone,  you  and  me,  for  a  few  days.  The 
Nortons  and  Turners  do  not  come  till  the  25th,  do- 
they  ?  " 

"  No,  not  till  the  25th." 

"  We  will  pass  our  lives  riding  or  driving  in  the 
woods,  in  the  fields.  Ten  days  of  liberty  !  And  dur- 
ing those  ten  days  no  more  lovers,  no  more  lovers  f 
And  all  those  lovers,  with  what  are  they  in  love, 
with  me  or  my  money.'*  That  is  the  mystery,  the 
unfathomable  mystery." 

The  engine  whistled  ;  the  train  put  itself  slowly  into- 
motion.  A  wild  idea  entered  Bettina's  head.  She 
leaned  out  of   the  window  and  cried,  accompanying. 


^o6  THE   ABBE    COXSJANTIX. 

her  words  with  a  little  wave  of  the  hand  :  "Good-by, 
my  lovers,  good-by  !  " 

Then  she  threw  herself  suddenly  into  a  corner  of 
the  coupe  \\\\\\  a  iiearty  burst  of  laughter, 

"  Oh,  Suzie,  Suzie  !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  A  man  with  a  red  flag  in  his  hand  ;  he  saw  me, 
and  he  looked  so  astonished." 

"  You  aie  so  irrational  !  " 

"Yes,  it  is  true,  to  have  called  cut  of  the  window 
like  tiiat,  but  not  to  be  hapjiy  nt  thinking  that  we  are 
going  to  live  alone,  e7i gar^otis." 

"  Alone,  alone  I  Not  exactly  that.  To  begin  with, 
we  shall  have  two  people  to  dinner  to-m'ght." 

•'  Ah  !  that  is  true  ;  but  those  two  people,  I  shall 
not  be  at  all  sorry  to  see  them  again.  Yes,  I  shall  be 
very  pleased  to  see  the  old  cure  again,  but  especially 
the  young  officer." 

"  What  I  especially  ?  " 

"  Ceitainly  ;  because  what  the  lawyei'  fiom  Sou- 
vigny  told  us  the  other  day  is  so  touching,  and  what 
that  great  artillery-man  did  when  he  was  quite  little 
was  so  good,  so  good,  that  this  evening  I  shall  seek 
for  an  opportunity  of  telling  him  what  I  think  of  it, 
2i\\(\  I  shall  find  one." 

Then  Bettina,  abruptly  changing  the  course  of  the 
•conversation,  continued  :  "  Did  they  send  the  telegram 
yesterday  to  Edwards  about  the  jionies  }  " 

'*  Yes,  yesterday  before  dinner." 

"  Oh,  you  will  let  me  diive  them  up  to  the  house  .^ 
Jt   will  be  such   fun   to  go   through  the  town,  and   to 


THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN,  109 

drive  up  at  full  speed  into  the  court  in  front  of  the 
entrance.     Tell  me,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly,  you  shall  drive  the  ponies." 

"  Oh,  how  nice  of  you,  Suzie  !  " 

Edwards  was  the  stud  groom.  He  had  arrived  at 
Longueval  three  days  before.  He  deigned  to  come 
himself  to  meet  Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival.  He 
l)ro.ight  the  phaeton  drawn  by  the  four  black  ponies. 
He  was  waiting  at  the  station.  The  passage  of  the 
ponies  through  the  principal  street  of  the  town  had 
made  a  sensation.  The  population  rushed  out  of 
their  houses,  and  asked  eagerly :  "  What  is  it  "^ 
What  can  it  be?  " 

Some  ventured  the  opinion,  "  It  is,  perhaps,  a 
travelling  circus." 

But  exclamations  arose  on  all  sides,  "  You  did  not 
notice  the  style  of  it — the  carriage  and  the  harness 
sliiuiiig  like  gold,  and  the  little  horses  with  their  while 
rosettes  on  each  side  of  the  head," 

The  crowd  collected  around  the  station  ;  and  those 
who  were  curious  learned  that  they  were  going  to 
witness  the  arrival  of  the  new  owners  of  Longueval. 
They  were  slightly  disenchanted  when  the  two  sisters 
appeared,  very  pretty,  but  in  very  simple  travelling- 
costumes.  These  good  i)eople  had  almost  expected 
the  apparition  of  two  princesses  out  of  fairy-tales, 
clad  in  silk  and  brocade,  sparkling  with  rui)ies  and 
diamonds.  But  they  opened  wide  their  eyes  wjieii 
they  saw  Bettina  walk  slowly  round  the  four  ponies, 
caressing  one  after  the  other  lightly  with  her  hand, 
and  examining  all  the  details  of  the  team  with  the  air 
of  a  connoisseur. 


no  THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIN. 

Having-  made  lier  inspection,  Bettina,  without  the 
least  liuiiv,  drew  off  her  long  Swedish  gloves,  and 
replaced  them  by  a  pair  of  dog-skin  which  she  look 
fioni  the  pocket  of  the  carriage  apron.  Then  she 
slipi)e(l  upon  the  box  in  the  place  of  Edwards,  receiv- 
ing from  him  the  reins  and  whip  with  extreme  dex- 
terity, without  allowing  the  alieady  excited  horses  to 
perceive  that  they  had  changed  hands. 

Mrs.  Scott  seated  herself  beside  her  sister.  The 
ponies    pranced,    curvetted,    and   threatened   to    rear. 

"  Be  very  careful,  miss,"  said  Edwards  ;  "  the  ponies 
are  very  fresh  to-day." 

*'  Do  not  be  afraid,"  replied  Bettina.  "  I  know 
them." 

Miss  Pei'cival  had  a  hand  at  once  very  firm,  very 
light,  and  very  just.  She  held  in  the  ponies  for  a  few 
moments,  forcing  them  to  keep  their  own  places; 
then,  waving  the  long  thong  of  her  whip  round  the 
leaders,  she  started  her  little  team  at  once  with  incom- 
parable skill,  and  left  the  station  with  an  air  of  tri- 
umph, in  the  midst  of  a  long  murmur  of  astonishment 
and  admiration. 

The  ti'ot  of  the  black  ponies  rang  on  the  little  oval 
paving-stones  of  Souvigny.  Bettina  held  tiiem  well 
together  until  she  had  left  the  town  ;  but  as  soon  as 
she  saw  before  her  a  clear  nnle  and  a  half  of  high- 
road— almost  on  a  dead  level — she  let  them  gradually 
increase  their  speed  till  they  went  like  the  wind. 

"Oh,  how  hapjiy  I  am,  Suzie  !"  cried  siie  ;  "and 
we  shall  trot  and  gaih^p  all  alone  on  these  roads. 
Suzie,  would  you  like  to  drive  }     It  is  such  a  delight 


THE   ABBE    COX  Sr AN  TEW  IM 

when  one  can  let  tliem  _i;o  at  full  speed.  Thev  are  so 
spirited  and  so  gentle.     Come,  take  the  reins." 

"  No  ;  keep  them.  It  is  a  greater  pleasure  to  me  to 
see  you  happy." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  I  am  perfectly  h.apjn-.  I  do  like  so 
much  to  drive  four-in-hand  with  i)Ienty  of  space  before 
me.  At  Paris,  even  in  the  morning,  I  did  not  dare  to 
any  longer.  They  looked  at  mt?  so  it  annoyed  me. 
But  here — no  one  !  no  one  I    no  one  I  " 

At  the  moment  when  Bettina,  already  a  little  intoxi- 
cated with  the  bracing  air  and  liberty,  gave  forth 
triumphantly  these  three  exclamatioiis,  "  No  one  !  no 
one  !  no  one  !  "  a  rider  ajipeared,  walking  his  horse 
in  the  direction  of  the  carriage.  It  was  Paul  de 
Lavardens,  He  had  been  watching  for  more  than 
an  hour  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  Americans 
pass. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Suzie  to  Bettitia  ;  "  there 
is  some  one." 

"A  peasant;  they  don't  count.  They  won't  ask 
me  to  marry  them." 

"  It  is  not  a  peasant  at  all.     Look  !  " 

Paul  de  La\'ardens,  while  passing  the  carriage, 
made  the  two  sisters  a  highly  cori-ect  bow,  from  which 
one  at  once  scented  the  P.irisian. 

The  ponies  were  going  at  such  a  rate  that  the 
meeting  was  over  like  a  flash  of   lightning. 

Bettina  cried  :  "  Who  is  that  gentleman  who  has 
just  bowed  to  us  ?  " 

"  I  had  scarcely  tinie  to  see  ;  but  I  seemed  to 
recognize  him." 


T-  I  2  T///-:    .  /  BJ/-     COA'S '/  A X  'JhV. 

"  VoLi  recoonizrd   him  ?  " 

"  Yrs.  ai!(!  I  would  wnger  tliat  I  have  seen  him  at 
our  house  this  winter." 

"  Hea\ens  !  if  it  should  he  one  of  the  thirty-four! 
Is  all  that  going-  to  l)egin  again  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

That  same  day  at  lialf-past  seven  Jean  went  to 
feicli  the  cure,  and  the  two  walked  together  up  to  the 
house.  During-  the  last  month  a  peifect  army  of 
workmen  had  taken  possession  of  Longueval  ;  all 
the  inns  in  the  village  were  making  their  fortunes. 
Immense  furniture-wagons  brought  caigoes  of  furni- 
ture and  decorations  from  Paris.  Forty-eight  hours 
l)efore  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Scott  Mile.  Marbeau,  the 
postnnstress,  and  Mme.  Lormier,  the  mayoress,  had 
wormed  themselves  into  the  castle  ;  and  the  account 
iheygave  of  the  interior  turned  everyone's  head.  The 
old  furniture  had  disa|)peared,  banished  to  the  attics; 
one  moved  among  a  perfect  accumulation  of  wonders. 
And  the  stables!  and  the  coach-houses!     A  special 

1-3 


114  THE   ABBE    COXSTA X  77iV. 

train  liad  brought  from  Paris,  under  tiie  high  superin- 
tendence of  Edwards,  a  dozen  cairiagt-hl — and  such 
carriages  !     Twenty  horses  ! — and  such  horses  ! 

The  Abbe  Constantin  thought  that  he  knew  what 
luxury  was.  Once  a  year  he  dined  wiih  his  bisho]), 
Monseigneur  Faubert.a  rich  and  amiable  prehite,  who 
entertained  rather  largely.  The  cure  till  now  had 
thought  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  more 
sumptuous  than  the  episcopal  palace  of  Souvigny,  or 
the  castles  of  Lavardens  and  Longueval. 

He  began  to  understand,  from  w  hat  he  was  told  of 
the  new  splendors  of  Longueval,  that  the  lu.xm-y  of 
the  great  houses  of  the  present  day  must  surpass  to  a 
singular  degree  the  sober  and  severe  luxury  of  the 
great  houses  of  former  times. 

As  soon  as  the  cure  and  Jean  had  enteied  the 
avenue  in  the  park,  which  led  to  the  house,  "  Look, 
Jean!"  said  the  cure;  "what  a  change!  All  this 
part  of  the  paik  used  to  be  quite  neglected,  and  now 
all  the  paths  are  gravelled  and  raked.  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  feel  myself  at  home  as  I  used  to  do  ;  it  w  ill  be 
too  grand.  1  shall  not  tind  again  my  old  brown  vel- 
vet easy-chair,  in  which  I  so  often  fell  asleeji  after 
dinnei-  ;  and  if  I  fall  asleep  this  evening,  w  hat  will 
become  of  me?  You  will  think  of  it,  Jean,  and  if 
you  see  that  1  begin  to  forget  myself,  you  will  come 
behind  me  and  jMiich  my  arm  genii}',  won't  }0u  } 
You   i^romise  me  }  " 

"Certainly,  certainly,  I  promise  }0u." 

Jean  jiaid  but  slight  attention  to  the  con\ersation  of 
the  cure.     He  felt   extremely  impatient   to    see   Mrs. 


77//:    ABBE    COXSl AXTLV.  115 

Scott  and  Miss  Percival  again,  hut  this  impatience 
was  mingled  with  very  keen  anxiety.  Would  he  find 
them  in  the  great  salon  at  Longueval  the  same  as  he 
had  seen  them  in  the  little  dining  room  at  the  vicar- 
age ?  Perhajis,  instead  of  those  two  women,  so  \)QX- 
fectly  simple  and  familiar,  amusing  themselves  with 
this  little  improvised  dinner,  and  who  the  very  tirst 
day  had  treated  him  with  so  much  grace  and  cordial- 
ity, perhaps  would  he  find  two  pretty  dolls  — worldly, 
elegant,  cold,  and  correct  ?  Woukl  his  first  impres- 
sion be  effaced  ?  Would  it  disappear,  or,  on  the  con- 
trary, would  the  impression  in  his  heart  become  still 
sweeter  and  deeper  ? 

They  ascended  the  six  steps  at  the  entrance,  and 
were  received  in  the  hall  by  two  tall  footmen  with  the 
most  dignified  and  imposing  air.  This  hall  had  for- 
merly been  a  vast,  frigid  a|)artment,  with  bare  stone 
walls.  These  walls  were  now  covered  with  admirable 
tapL-stry,  representing  mythological  subjects.  The 
cure  dared  scarcely  glance  at  this  tapestry  ;  i»  vas 
enough  for  him  to  perceive  that  the  goddesses  w!:o 
wandered  through  these  shades  wore  costumes  of 
antique  simplicity. 

One  of  the  footmen  opened  wide  the  folding-doors 
of  the  salon.  It  was  there  that  one  had  generally 
found  the  old  marquise,  on  the  right  of  the  high 
chimney-|)iece,  and  on  the  left  had  stood  the  brown 
velvet  easy-chair. 

No  brown  easy-chair  now  !  That  old  relic  of  the 
Empire,  which  was  the  basis  of  the  arrangement  of 
the  salon,  had  been  replaced  by  a  marvellous  speci- 


I  1 6  7 IJE   ABBE    CO  A  ^SlANl  IN. 

men  of  tapestry  of  the  end  of  the  last  century.  Then 
a  crowd  of  little  easy-chairs,  and  ottomans  of  all 
forms  and  all  colors,  were  scattered  here  and  there 
with  an  appearance  of  disorder  which  was  the  per- 
fection of  art. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Scott  saw  the  cure  and  Jean  enter 
she  rose,  and,  going  to  meet  them,  said  : 

"  How  kind  of  you  to  come,  M.  le  Cure,  and  you 
too,  M.  Jean  !  How  pleased  I  am  to  see  you,  my  first, 
my  only  friends  down  here !  " 

Jean  breathed  again.     It  was  the  same  woman. 

"  Will  you  allow  me,"  added  Mrs.  Scott,  "  to  intro- 
duce my  children  to  you  }  Harry  and  Bella,  come 
liere. " 

Harry  was  a  very  pretty  little  boy  of  six,  and  Bella 
a  very  charming  little  girl  of  five  years  old.  They  had 
their  mother's  large  dark  eyes,  and  her  golden  hair. 

After  the  cure  had  kissed  the  two  children,  Harry, 
who  was  looking  with  admiration  at  Jean's  uniform, 
said  to  his  mother  : 

"  And  the  soldier,  mamma,  must  we  kiss  him, 
too?" 

"  If  you  like,"  replied  Mrs.  Scott,  "and  if  he  will 
allow  it." 

A  moment  afier  the  two  children  were  installed 
upon  Jean's  knees,  and  overwhelming  him  with 
questions. 

"  Are  you  an  officer  }  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  an  officer." 

"  What  in  ?" 

"  In  the  artillery." 


THE   ABBE    COXSTAN riX.  n? 

"  The  artiller}-  !  Oh,  you  are  one  of  the  men  who 
fire  the  cannons  Oh,  huw  I  should  hke  to  be  quite 
near  when  they  tire  the  cannons  !  " 

**  Will  you  take  us  some  day  when  they  fire  the 
cannons  ?     Tell  me,  will  you  ?  " 

Meanwhile  Mis.  Scoii  chatted  with  the  cure,  and 
Jean,  while  replying  to  the  children's  questions,  looked 
at  Mrs.  Scott.  She  wore  a  white  muslin  dress,  but 
the  muslin  tlisappeared  under  a  comi)lrte  avalanche 
of  little  flounces  of  Valenciennes.  The  dress  was  cut 
out  in  frorit  in  a  large  square,  her  arms  were  bare  to 
the  flbow,  a  large  bouquet  of  red  roses  was  at  the 
opening  of  her  dress,  and  a  red  rose  fixed  in  her  hair 
with  a  diamoiid  ^^^cr;-^?/^ —nothing  more. 

Mis.  Scott  suddenly  perceived  that  the  children  had 
taken  entire  possession  of  Jean,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  (^h,  I  beg  your  pardon  !     Harry,  Bella  !" 

"  Oh,  pray  let  them  stay  with  me  !  " 

"  1  am  so  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting  for  dinner. 
My  sister  is  not  down  yet.     Oh,  here  slie  is  !  " 

Bettina  entered.  The  same  dress  of  white  muslin, 
the  same  delicate  mass  of  lace,  tlie  same  red  roses, 
the  same  grace,  the  same  beauty,  and  the  same  smil- 
ing, amiable,  candid  manner. 

*'  How  do  you  do,  M.  le  Cure  .-*  I  am  delighted  to 
see  you.  Have  you  pardoned  my  dreadful  intrusion 
of  the  other  day  }  "  Then,  turning  toward  Jean  and 
offering    him    her  hand  :      "  How    do    you   do,  M. — 

M. Oh  !  I    cannot    remember    your   name,    and 

yet  we  seem  to  be  already  old  friends   M. " 

"  Jean  Reynaud." 


Ii8  THE   ABBE    COXSTANTIN. 

''Jean  Reynaud,  that  is  it.  How  do  you  do,  M. 
Reviiaud  ?  I  warn  you  faithfully  that  wlien  we  really 
are  old  fiiends — that  is  to  sa)-,  in  about  a  week — I 
shall  call  you  M.  Jean.      It  is  a  pretty   name — Jean." 

Up  to  the  moment  when  Bettina  appeared  Jeaii 
had  said  to  himself  :    "  Mrs.  Scott  is  the  j^ietlier  !  " 

When  he  felt  Bettina's  little  hand  slii)  into  his  arm, 
and  when  she  turned  toward  him  her  delicious  face, 
he  said  :    "  Miss  Percival  is  the  prettier  !  " 

But  his  perplexities  gathered  round  him  again  when 
he  was  seated  between  the  two  sisters.  If  he  looked 
to  the  right,  love  threatened  him  from  that  direction  ; 
and  if  he  looked  to  the  left,  the  danger  removed 
immediately,  and  passed  to  the  left. 

Conversation  began,  easy,  animated,  confidential. 
The  two  sisters  were  charmed.  They  had  already 
walked  in  the  i)ark  :  they  promised  themselves  a  long- 
ride  in  the  forest  to-morrow.  Riding  was  their  pas- 
sion, their  madness.  It  was  also  Jean's  passion  ;  so 
that  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  begged  him  to 
join  them  the  next  day.  There  was  no  one  who  kiK  w 
the  country  round  better  than  he  did  ;  it  was  his 
native  place.  He  should  be  so  hapj^y  to  do  the 
honoi's  of  it,  and  to  show  them  nun'.beis  of  delight- 
ful little  spots  which  without  him  they  would  never 
discover. 

•*  Do  you  ride  every  day  }  "  asked  Bettina. 

"Every  day,  and  sometimes  twice.  In  the  moining 
I  am  on  duty,  and  in  the  evening  I  lide  foi"  my  own 
pleasure." 

*'  Early  in  the  morning  }  " 


THE   ABBE   COX  STAN  TIN.  HQ 

"  At  half-past  five." 

"  At  luilf-past  five  every  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes,  except  Sunday." 

"Then  you  get  up ■'" 

"  At  half-past  four." 

"  And  is  it  hght  }  " 

"  Oh,  ju;st  now,  i)road  daylight." 

"To  get  up  at  half-past  four  is  admirable  ;  we  often 
finish  our  day  just  when  yours  is  beginning.  And  are 
you  fond  of  your  profession  ?  " 

"  Very.  It  is  an  excellent  thing  to  have  one's  life 
plain  before  one,  with  exact  and  definite  duties." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Scott,  "  not  to  be  one's  own 
master— to  be  always  obliged  to  obey  !  " 

"  That  is  perhaps  wliat  suits  me  best  ;  there  is 
nothing  easier  than  to  obey,  and  then  to  learn  to  obey 
is  the   only  way  of  learning  to  command." 

"  Ah  !  since  you  say  so,  it  must  be  true," 

"  Yes,  no  doubt,"  added  the  cure;  "but  he  does 
not  tell  you  that  he  is  the  most  distinguished  officer 
in  his  regiment,  that " 

"  Oh,  pray  do  not  !  " 

The  cuie,  in  spite  of  the  resist;ince  of  Jean,  was 
about  lo  launch  into  a  panegyric  on  his  godson,  when 
Bettiiia,  interposing,  said  : 

"It  is  unnecessary,  M.  le  Cure  ;  do  not  say  any- 
thing. We  know  already  all  that  you  would  tell  us; 
we  have  been  so  indiscreet  as  to  make  inquiries  about 
M. — oh  !  I  was  just  going  to  say  M.  Jean — about  M. 
Reynaud.  Well,  the  information  we  received  was 
excellent." 


120  THE   ABBE    COXSTAXriN. 

"  I  am  curious  to  know,"  said  Jean. 
.    "  Nothing  !  nothing  I    you    shall    know   notliing.     I 
do  not  wish  to  make    \  ou    blush,  and  you   would   be 
obliged    to  blush." 

Then,  turning  toward  the  cure  :  "  And  about  you 
too.  M.  I'Abbe,  we  have  had  some  infoiination.  It 
appe.iis  that  you  are  a  saint." 

"  Oh  I  as  :o  that,  it  is  perfectly  true  I  "  cried  Jean. 

It  was  the  cuie  this  time  who  cut  short  tlie  elo- 
quence of  Jean.  Dinner  was  almost  over.  The  old 
priest  had  not  got  through  this  dinner  without  experi- 
encing many  emotions.  They  had  repeatedly  i)re- 
Sf^nted  to  him  complicated  and  scientific  constructions 
upon  which  he  had  oidy  ventured  with  a  tiembling 
hand.  He  was  afraid  of  seeing  the  whole  crundjle 
beneaih  his  touch — the  trembling  castles  of  jelly,  the 
pyramids  of  trufifles,  the  fortresses  of  cream,  the  bas- 
tions of  pastry,  the  rocks  of  ice.  Olheiwise  the  Abbe 
Constantin  dined  with  an  excellent  appetite,  and  did 
not  recoil  before  two  or  three  glasses  of  champagne. 
He  was  no  foe  to  good  cheer.  Perfection  is  not  of 
this  world  ;  and  if  gormandizing  were,  as  they  say, 
a  cardinal  sin,  how  many  good  priests  woald  be 
damned  ! 

Coffee  was  served  on  the  terrace  in  front  of  the 
house;  in  the  distance  was  heard  the  harsh  voice  of 
the  old  village  clock  striking  nine.  Woods  and  fields 
were  slumbering;  the  avenues  in  the  park  showed 
only  as  long  undulating  and  undecided  lines. 
The  moon  slowly  rose  over  the  tops  of  the  great 
trees. 


THE  ABBE   CON  STAN  TIN.  I2i 

Bettina  took  the  box  of  cigars  from  the  table,  •'  Do 
you  smoke  ?  "  said  sh.e. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Percivah" 

"  Take  one,  M.  Jean.  It  can't  be  helped.  I  have 
saiil  it.  Take  one — but  no,  listen  to  me  first."  And 
speaking  in  a  low  voice  while  offering  him  the  box  of 
cigars:  "It  is  getting  dark;  now  you  may  blush  at 
VDur  ease,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  did  not  say  at  chnner. 
An  old  lawyer  in  Souvigny,  who  was  your  guaidian, 
came  to  see  my  sister  in  Paris  about  the  payment  for 
the  place  ;  he  told  us  what  you  did  after  your  father's 
death,  when  you  were  only  a  child — what  you  did  for 
that  poor  mother,  and  for  that  j^oor  young  girl.  Both 
my  sister  and  I  were  much  touched  by  it." 

"  Yes,"  continued  Mis.  Scott,  "and  that  is  why  we 
have  received  you  to-day  with  so  mucii  pleasure.  We 
should  not  have  given  such  a  reception  to  everyone, 
of  that  you  may  be  sure.  Well,  now  take  your  cigar; 
my  sister  is  waiting." 

Jean  could  not  find  a  word  in  reply.  Bettina  stood 
there  with  the  box  of  cigars  in  her  two  hands,  her  eyes 
fixed  frankly  on  the  countenance  of  Jean,  At  the 
moment,  she  tasted  a  true  and  keen  pleasure  which 
.may  be  expressed  by  this  phrase:  "It  seems  to  me 
thai  I  see  before  me  a  man  of  honor." 

"  And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Scott,  "  let  us  sit  here 
and  enjoy  this  delicious  night ;  take  your  coffee, 
smoke " 

"  And  do  not  let  us  talk,  Suzie ;  do  not  let  us  talk  ! 
This  great  silence  of  the  country,  after  the  great  noise 
and  bustle  of  Paris,   is  delightful  !     Let  us  sit  here 


122  THE  ABBE   CONSTANTIN. 

witliout  speaking  ;  let  us  look  at  the  sky,  the  moon, 
aiid  tlie  stars." 

All  four  with  much  pleasure  carried  out  this  little 
programme,  Suzie  and  Bettina,  calm,  reposeful,  ab- 
solutely separated  from  their  existence  of  yesterday, 
already  felt  a  tenderness  for  the  place  which  had 
just  received  them  and  was  going  to  keep  them. 
Jean  was  less  tranquil  ;  the  words  of  Miss  Percival 
liad  caused  him  profound  emotion  ;  his  heart  had  not 
yet  quite  regained  its  regular  throb. 

But  the  happiest  of  all  was  the  Abbe  Constantin. 
This  little  episode  which  had  caused  Jean's  modesty 
such  a  rude,  yet  sweet,  trial  had  brought  him  exquisite 
joy,  the  abbe  bore  his  godson  such  affection.  The 
most  tender  father  never  loved  more  warmly  the 
dearest  of  his  children.  When  the  old  cure  looked  at 
the  young  officer,  he  often  said  to  himself:  "  Heaven 
has  been  too  kind  ;  I  am  a  priest,  and  I  have  a  son  !" 

The  abbe  sank  into  a  very  agreeable  revery.  He 
felt  himself  at  home  ;  he  felt  himself  too  much  at 
home.  By  degrees  his  ideas  became  hazy  and  con- 
fused, revery  became  drowsiness,  drowsiness  became 
slumber;  the  disaster  was  soon  complete,  irre])arable; 
the  cure  slept,  and  slept  profoundly.  This  marvellous 
dinner  and  the  two  or  three  glasses  of  champagne  may 
have  had  something  to  do  with  the  catastrophe. 

Jean  perceived  nothing ;  he  had  forgotten  the 
promise  made  to  his  godfather.  And  why  had  he 
forgotten  it  ?  Because  Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Perciv^al 
had  thought  proper  to  put  their  feet  on  the  footstools 
placed   in  front   of   their  great  wicker  garden-chairs 


THE  ABBE   COySTANTIN.  123 

filled  with  cushions  ;  tlien  they  Iiad  tlirown  tliemselves 
lazily  back  in  their  chairs,  and  their  musHn  skirts  had 
become  raised  a  little — a  very  little,  but  yet  enough  to 
display  four  little  feet,  the  lines  of  which  showed  very 
distinctly  and  clearly  beneath  two  pretty  clouds  of 
white  lace.  Jean  looked  at  these  little  feet,  and  asked 
liimself  this  question  :  *'  Which  are  the  smaller  ?  " 

While  he  was  trying  to  solve  this  problem,  Bettina 
all  at  once  said  to  him  in  a  low  voice:  "  M.  Jean! 
M.  Jean  !  " 

*'  Miss  Percival  ?  " 

"  Look  at  the  cure  ;  he  is  asleep  !  " 

"  Oh  !  it  is  my  fault." 

"  How  your  fault  }  "  asked  Mrs.  Scott,  also  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Yes  ;  my  godfather  rises  at  daybreak  and  goes  to 
bed  very  early.  He  told  me  to  be  sure  and  prevent 
his  falling  asleep.  When  Mme.  de  Longuevnl  was 
here,  he  very  often  had  a  nap  after  dinner  ;  you  have 
shown  him  so  much  kindness  that  he  has  fallen  back 
into  his  old  habits." 

•'  And  he  is  perfectly  right,"  said  Bettina.  "  Do 
not  make  a  noise  ;  do  not  wake  him." 

"  You  are  too  good,  Miss  Percival ;  but  the  air  is 
getting  a  little  fresh," 

"Ah!  that  is  true,  he  might  catch  cold.  Stay,  I 
will  go  and  fetch  a  wraj)  for  him." 

"  I  think,  Miss  Percival,  it  would  be  better  to  try 
and  wake  him  skilfully,  so  that  he  should  not  suspect 
that  you  had  seen  him  asleep." 

*•  Let  me  do  it,"  said  Bettina.     "  Suzir.  let  us  sing 


124  THE    ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN. 

together,  very  softly  at  fiist,  then  we  will  raise  our 
voices  little  by  little  ;  let  us  sing," 

"  Willingly,  but  what  shall  we  sing  ?  " 

"Let  us  sing  '  Ouelque  chose  d'enfantin';  the 
words  are  suitable." 

Suzie  and  Bettina  began  to  sing  : 

"  If  I  had  but  two  little  wings, 
And  were  a  little  feathery  bird." 

Their  sweet  and  peneti'ating  voices  had  an  exquisite 
sonority  in  that  profound  silence.  The  abbe  heard 
nothing,  did  not  move.  Charmed  with  this  Httle  con- 
cert, Jean  said  to  himself:  "Heaven  grant  that  my 
godfather  may  not  wake  too  soon  !  " 

The  voices  became  clearer  and  louder  : 

"  But  in  my  sleep  to  you  I  fly, 
I'm  always  with  you  in  my  sleep." 

Yet  the  abbe  did  not  stir. 

"How  he  sleeps  I  "  said  Suzie;  "it  is  a  crime  to 
wake  him." 

"  But  we  must ;  louder,  Suzie,  louder." 

Suzie  and  Bettina  both  gave  free  scope  to  the  power 
of  their  voices  : 

''  Sleep  stays  not,  though  a  monarch  bids  ; 
So  I  love  to  wake  ere  break  of  day." 

The  cure  woke  with  a  start.  After  a  short  moment 
of  anxiety  he  breathed  again.  Evidently  no  one  had 
noticed  that  he  had  been   asleep.     He  collected  him- 


THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIN.  127 

self,  stretched  himself  prudently,  slowly  ;  he  was 
saved  ! 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  two  sisters  accompa- 
nied the  cure  and  Jean  to  the  little  gate  of  the  park, 
which  opened  into  the  village  a  few  yards  froin  the 
vicarage  ;  they  had  nearly  reached  the  gate  when  Bet- 
tina  said  all  at  once  to  Jean  :  "  Ah  !  all  this  time  I 
have  had  a  question  to  ask  you.  This  morning,  wiien 
we  arrived,  we  met  on  the  way  a  shght  young  man, 
with  a  fair  mustache;  he  was  riding  a  black  horse, 
and  bowed  to  us  as  we  passed." 

"  It  was  Paul  de  Lavardens,  one  of  my  friends. 
He  has  already  had  the  honor  of  being  introduced  to 
you,  but  rather  vaguely  ;  and  his  ambition  is  to  be 
presented  again." 

"  Well,  you  shall  bring  him  one  of  these  days,"  said 
Mrs.  Scott. 

"  After  the  25th  !  "  cried  Bettina.  "  Not  before  ! 
not  before  !  No  one  till  then  ;  till  then  we  will  see 
no  one  but  you,  M.  Jean.  But  you, — it  is  very  ex- 
traordinary, and  I  don't  quite  know  how  it  has 
hap[)ened,— you  don't  seem  anybody  to  us.  The  com- 
pliment is  perhaps  not  very  well  turned  ;  but  do  not 
make  a  mistake,  it  is  a  compliment.  I  intended  to  be 
excessively  amiable  in  speaking  to  you  thus." 

"  And  so  you  are.  Miss  Percival." 

**  So  much  the  better  if  I  have  been  so  fortunate  as 
to  make  myself  understood.  Good-by,  M.  Jean — till 
to-morrow  !  " 

Mrs.  Scott  and  Miss  Percival  returned  slowly 
toward  the  castle. 


128 


THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TEW 


"  And  now,  Su^ie,"  said   Bettina,  "  scold   me  well 
J  expect  it,  I  have  desei'xed  it." 
^' Scold  you!     Why?  " 


"  You  are  going  to  say,  I  am  sure,  that  I  have  been 
too  familiar  with  that  young  man." 

"  No,  I  shall  not  say  that.  From  the  first  day  that 
young  man  has  made  the  most  favorable  impression 
upon  me  ;  he  inspues  me  with  perfect  confidence." 

"  And  so  he  does  me." 


THE   ABBE    CONSTANTLY.  1 29 

"  I  am  persuaded  tliat  it  would  be  well  for  us  both 
to  try  to  make  a  friend  of  him." 

"  With  all  my  iieart,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  so 
much  the  more  as  I  have  seen  many  young  men  since 
we  have  lived  in  France.  Oh,  yes,  I  have,  indeed! 
Well!  this  is  the  first,  positively  the  first,  in  whose 
eyes  I  h;'.ve  not  clearly  read,  '  Oh,  how  glad  I  should 
be  to  marry  tiie  millions  of  that  little  person  !  '  Tliat 
was  written  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  others,  but  not  in  his 
eyes.  Now  here  we  are,  at  home  again  !  Good-night, 
Suzie — to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Scott  went  to  see  and  kiss  her  sleeping 
children. 

Bettina  remained  long,  leaning  on  the  balustrade  of 
her  balcony. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  she,  "  that  I  am  going  to  be 
very  fond  of  this  place." 


CHAPTER    VII. 


The  next  morning,  on  returning  from  drill.  Jean 
found  Paul  de  Lavardens  waiting  for  h-m  at  the 
barracks;  he  scarcely  allowed  him  time  to  dismount, 
and  the  moment  he  had  him  alone,  "  Quick  !  "  snid 
he,  "describe  your  dinner-party  of  yesterday.  I  saw 
them  myself  in  the  morning;  the  little  one  was  diiv- 
ing  four  ponies,  and  with  an  amount  of  audacity.  I 
bowed  to  them.  Did  they  mention  me?  Did  they 
recognize  me  ?  When  will  you  take  me  to  Longueval  ? 
Answer  me." 

"  Answer  ?  yes.     But  which  question  first  ?  " 

"  The  last." 

"  When  will  I  take  you  to  Longueval  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN-.  131 

"  Well,  in  ten  days  ;  they  don't  want  to  see  anyone 
just  now." 

"  Then  you  are  not  going  back  to  Longueval  for 
ten  days  ?  '" 

"  Oh,  I  shall  go  back  to-day  at  four  o'clock.  But 
I  don't  count,  you  know.  Jean  Reynaud,  the  cures 
godson — that  is  why  I  have  penetrated  so  easily  into 
the  confidence  of  these  two  charnung  women.  I  have 
presented  myself  under  the  patronage  and  witii  tiie 
guarantee  of  the  Church.  And  then  they  have  dis- 
covered that  I  could  render  them  little  services.  I 
know  the  country  very  well,  and  they  will  make  use  of 
me  as  a  guide.  In  a  word,  I  am  nobody  ;  while  you, 
Comte  Paul  de  Lavardens,  you  are  somebody.  So  fear 
nothing;  your  turn  will  come  with  the  fetes  and  balls. 
Then  you  will  be  resplendent  in  all  your  glory,  and  I 
shall  return  very  humbly  into  my  obscurity." 

"  You  may  laugh  at  me  as  much  as  you  like  ;  it  is 
none  the  less  true  that  during  those  ten  days  you  will 
steal  a  march  upon  me — upon  jne  /  " 

"  How  upon  you  ?  " 

"  Now,  Jean,  do  you  want  to  make  me  believe  that 
you  are  not  already  in  love  with  one  of  these  two 
women  ?  Is  it  possible  ?  So  much  beauty,  so  much 
luxury  !  Luxury  to  that  degree  upsets  me.  Those 
black  ponies  with  their  white  rosettes  !  I  dreamed  of 
them  last  night,  and  that  little — Bettina,  is  it  not.^ 

"Yes,  Bettina." 

"Bettina  —  Comtesse  Bettina  de  Lavardens! 
Doesn't  that  sound  well  enough  ?  and  what  a  perfect 
husband  she  would  have  in  me  !     To  be  the  husband 


132  THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN. 

of  a  woman  possessing"  boundless  wealth — that  is 
my  destiny.  It  is  not  so  easy  as  one  may  suppose.  I 
have  already  run  through  something,  and  if  my  mother 
had  not  stopped  me  !  but  I  am  quite  ready  to  begin 
again.  Oh,  how  hap]:)y  that  girl  would  be  with  me  ! 
1  would  cieate  ai'ound  iier  the  existence  of  a  faii'y 
queen.  In  all  her  luxury  she  would  feel  the  taste,  the 
art,  and  the  skill  of  her  husband.  1  would  pass  my 
Hfe  in  adoring  her,  in  displaying  her  beauty,  in  petting 
iier,  in  bearing  her  triumphant  through  the  world.  I 
would  study  her  beauty  in  order  to  give  it  the  frame 
that  best  suited  it.  '  If  he  were  not  there,'  she  would 
say,  '  I  should  not  be  so  beautiful,  so  dazzling.'  I 
should  know  not  only  how  to  love  her,  but  how  to 
amuse  her.  She  would  have  something  for  her 
money  ;  she  would  have  love  and  pleasure.  Come, 
Jean,  do  a  good  action  ;  take  me  to  Mrs.  Scott's 
to-day." 

"  I  cannot,  I  assure  you." 

"  Well,  then,  in  ten  days  ;  but  I  give  you  fair  notice, 
I  shall  install  myself  at  Longueval,  and  shall  not  move. 
In  the  first  place,  it  would  please  my  mother  ;  she  is 
still  a  little  prejudiced  against  the  Americans.  She 
says  that  she  shall  arrange  not  to  see  theni  ;  but  1 
know  my  mother.  Some  day,  when  I  sh.all  go  home 
in  the  ev^ening  and  tell  her:  '  Mother,  I  have  won  the 
heart  of  a  charming  little  person  who  is  burdened  with 
a  capital  of  twenty  millions.' — they  exaggerate  when 
)hey  talk  of  hundreds  of  millions  ;  you  know  these  are 
/he  correct  figures,  and  they  are  enough  for  me, —  that 
evening,  then,  my  mother  will  be  delighted,  because  in 


THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIM.  133 

her  heart  wliat  is  it  she  desires  for  me  ?  What  all 
good  mothers  desire  for  tlieir  sons — a  good  maiiiage, 
or  a  discreet  liaison  with  some  one  in  society.  At 
Longueval  I  find  these  two  essentials,  and  I  will 
accommodate  myself  very  willingly  to  either.  You 
will  have  the  kindness  to  warn  me  in  ten  tlays  ;  you 
will  let  me  know  which  of  the  two  you  abandon  to 
me,  Mrs.  Scott  or  Miss  Percival." 

"  You  are  mad,  you  are  quite  mad  !  I  do  not,  I 
never  shall  think " 

"  Listen,  Jean.  You  aie  wisdom  personified.  You 
may  say  and  do  as  you  like  ;  but  remember  wliat  I 
say  to  you,  Jean  :  you  will  fall  in  love  in  that  house." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  replied  Jean,  laughing. 

"  But  I  am  absolutely  sure  of  it.  Good-by.  I  leave 
you  to  your  duties." 

That  morning  Jean  was  perfectly  sincere.  He  had 
slept  very  well  the  previous  night  ;  the  second  inter- 
view with  the  two  sisters  had,  as  if  by  enchantment, 
dissipated  the  slight  trouble  which  iiad  agitated  his 
soul  after  the  first  meeting.  He  prepared  to  meet 
them  again  with  much  pleasure,  but  also  with  much 
tranquillity  ;  there  was  too  much  money  in  that  house 
to  permit  the  love  of  a  poor  devil  like  Jean  to  find 
place  honestly  there. 

Friendship  was  another  affair;  with  all  his  heart  he 
wished,  and  with  all  his  strength  he  sought,  to  estab- 
lish himself  peacefully  in  the  esteem  and  regard  of  the 
sisters.  He  would  try  not  to  remark  too  much  the 
beauty  of  Suzie  and  Bettina  ;  he  would  try  not  to  for- 
get himself,  as  he  had  done  the  previous  evening,  in  the 


134  THE  ABBE   CON  ST  AN  TIN. 

contemplation  of  the  four  little  feet  resting  on  their 
footstools.  They  had  said  very  frankly,  very  cordially 
to  him  :  "  You  shall  be  our  friend."  That  was  all  he 
desired — to  be  their  friend  ;  and  that  he  would  be. 

During  the  ten  days  that  followed  all  conduced  to 
the  success  of  this  enterprise.  Suzie,  Bettina,  the 
cure,  and  Jean  led  the  same  life  in  the  closest  and 
most  cordial  intimacy. 

Jean  did  not  seek  to  analyze  his  feelings.  He  felt 
for  these  two  women  an  equal  affection  ;  he  was  per- 
fectly happy,  perfectly  tranquil.  Then  he  was  not  in 
love,  for  love  and  tranquillity  seldom  dwell  at  peace 
in  the  same  heart. 

Jean,  however,  saw  approach  with  a  little  anxiety 
and  sadness  the  day  which  would  bring  to  Longueval 
the  Turners  and  the  Nortons  and  the  whole  force  of 
the  American  colony.     The  day  came  too  soon. 

On  Friday,  the  24th  of  June,  at  four  o'clock,  Jean 
arrived  at  tiie  castle.  Bettina  received  him  alone^ 
looking  quite  vexed. 

"  How  annoying  it  is  !  "  said  she  ;  "  my  sister  is  not 
well — a  little  headache,  nqjlhing  of  consequence,  it 
will  be  gone  by  to-morrow  ;  but  I  dare  not  ride  with 
you  alone.  In  America  I  might  ;  but  here  it  would 
not  do,  would  it  }  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Jean. 

"  I  must  send  you  back,  and  I  am  so  sorry." 

"  And  so  am  I  ;  I  am  very  sorry  to  be  obliged  to 
go,  and  to  lose  this  last  day,  which  I  had  hoped  to 
pass  with  you.  However,  since  it  must  be,  I  will  come 
to-morrow  to  enquire  after  your  sister." 


THE  ABBE   CONSTANTEY.  135 

''  She  will  see  you  herself  to-morrow;  I  repeat,  it  is 
nothing  serious.  But  do  not  run  away  in  such  a 
hurry,  pray  ;  will  you  not  spare  me  a  little  quarter  of 
an  hour's  conversation  ?  I  want  to  speak  to  you  ;  sit 
down  there,  and  now  listen  to  me  well.  My  sister  and 
I  had  intended  this  evening  aftei"  dinner  to  blockade 
you  into  a  little  corner  of  the  drawing  room,  and  tiien 
she  meant  to  tell  you  wiuit  I  am  going  to  try  to  say 
for  us  both;  but  I  am  a  little  nervous.  Do  not 
laugh  ;  it  is  a  very  serious  matter.  We  wish  to  thank 
you  for  having  been,  ever  since  our  arrival  here,  so 
good  to  us  both." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Percival !  pray,  it  is  I  who " 

"Oh,  do  not  interrupt  me!  you  will  quite  confuse 
!ne.  I  do  not  know  how  to  get  through  with  it.  I 
maintain,  besides,  that  the  thanks  are  due  from  us, 
not  from  you.  We  arrived  here  two  strangers.  We 
have  been  fortunate  enough  to  immediately  find 
friends.  Yes,  friends.  You  have  taken  us  by  the 
hand,  you  have  led  us  to  our  farmers,  to  our  keepers  ; 
while  your  godfather  took  us  to  his  poor.  And  every- 
where you  were  so  much  beloved  that  from  their  con- 
fidence in  you  they  began,  on  your  recommendation, 
to  like  us  a  little.  You  are  adored  about  here;  do 
you  know  that  }  " 

"  I  was  born  here ;  all  these  good  people  have 
known  me  from  my  infancy,  and  are  grateful  to  me 
for  what  my  grandfather  and  father  did  for  them. 
And  then  I  am  of  their  race,  the  race  of  the  peasants  ; 
my  great-grandfather  was  a  laborer  at  Bargecourt,  a 
village  two  miles  from  here." 


136  THE   ABBE    COA'STAXTEY. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  you  appear  very  pioud  of  lliat  !  " 

"  Neither  proud  nor  ashamed." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  you  made  a  Hide  movement  of 
pride.  Well,  I  can  tell  you  that  my  mothei's  great- 
j^randfather  was  a  farmer  in  Brittany.  He  went  to 
Canada  at  the  end  of  the  last  century,  when  Canada 
was  still  French.  And  you  love  very  much  this  ])]ace 
wheie  you  were  born  ?  " 

"  Very  much.  Perhaps  I  shall  soon  be  obliged  to 
leave  it." 

"Why?" 

"  When  I  get  promotion,  I  shall  have  to  exchange 
into  another  regiment,  and  I  shall  wander  from  garri- 
son to  garrison  ;  but  certainly,  when  I  am  an  old 
commandant  or  old  colonel,  on  half-])ay,  I  shall  come 
back  and  live  and  die  here  in  the  little  house  that  was 
my  father's." 

"Always  quite  alone?  " 

"  Why  quite  alone  ?     I  certainly  hope  not." 

"  You  intend  to  marry  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  You  are  trying  to  get  married  ?  " 

"  No  ;  one  may  think  of  marrying,  but  one  ought 
not  to  try  to  marry," 

"  And  yet  there  are  people  who  do  try.  Come,  I 
can  answer  for  that,  and  you  even  ;  people  have 
wished  to  mairy  you." 

"  Kow  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  your  little  affairs  so  well.  You  are 
what  I  hey  call  a  good  match  ;  and,  1  repeat  it,  they 
have  wished  to  marry  you." 


THE   ABBE    COXSTAXTIN.  139 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?  " 

"  M.  le  Cure." 

"  Then  he  was  very  wrong,"  said  Jean,  with  a  cer- 
tain sharpness, 

"No,  no;  he  was  not  wrong".  If  anyone  has  been 
to  bhiine,  it  is  I.  I  soon  discovered  that  your  god- 
father was  never  so  liappy  as  when  he  was  speaking 
of  you  ;  so  when  I  was  alone  with  hini  during  our 
walks,  to  please  hini  I  talked  of  you,  and  he  related 
your  history  to  me.  You  are  well  off;  you  are  very- 
well  off.  From  Government  you  receive  every  month 
two  hundred  and  thirteen  francs  and  some  centimes  ; 
am  I  correct  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean,  deciding  to  bear  with  a  good 
grace  his  shai'e  in   the  cure's  indiscretions. 

"  You  have  eight  thousand  francs  income." 

"  Nearly,  not  quite." 

"  Add  to  that  your  house,  which  is  worth  thirty 
thousand  francs.  You  ai-e  in  an  excellent  position  ; 
and  people  have  asked  your  hand." 

"  Asked  my  hand  !     No,  no." 

"  They  have  ;  they  have,  twice.  And  you  have 
refused  two  very  good  marriages,  two  very  good  for- 
tunes, if  you  prefer  it— it  is  the  same  thing  for  so 
many  people.  Two  hundred  thousand  francs  in  the 
one,  three  hundred  thousand  in  tiie  other  case.  It 
appears  that  these  fortunes  are  enormous  for  the 
country!     Yet  you  have  refused!     Tell  me  why." 

"  Well,  it  concerned  two  charming  young  girls." 

"  That  is  understood.     One  always  says  that." 

"  But  whom  I  scarcely    knew.     They  forced  me, — 


C40 


THE  ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN. 


for  I  did  resist, — they  forced  me  to  spend  two  or  three 
evenings  with  tliem  last  winter." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  Tlien — I  don't  quite  know  how  to    explain    it    tc 


you.  I  did  not  feel  the  slightest  toucii  of  embarrass- 
ment, emotion,  anxiety,  or  disturbance " 

"  In  fact,"  said  Bettina  resolutely,  "  not  the  least 
suspicion  of  love." 

"  No,  not  the  least;  and  I  returned  quite  calmly  to 
my  bachelor  den,  for  I  think  it  is  better  not  to  marry 
than  to  marry  without  love." 

"  And  I  lliink  so,  too." 

She  looked  at  him,  he  looked  at  her;  and  suddenly, 
to  the  great  surprise  of  both,  they  found  nothing  more 
to  say — nothing  at  all. 


THE   ABBE   CONSl'ANTIiV.  14^ 

At  this  moinent  Harry  and  Bella  rushed  into  the 
room  with  cries  of  joy. 

"  M.  Jean  !  Are  you  theie  ?  Come  and  see  our 
ponies." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Bettina,  her  voice  a  little  uncertain, 
"  Edwards  has  just  come  back  from  Paris,  and  has 
brought  two  microscopic  ponies  for  the  children. 
Let  us  go  and  see  them,  shall  we  ?  " 

They  went  to  see  the  ponies,  which  were  indeed 
worthy  to  figure  in  the  stables  of  the  King  of  Lilliput. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


Three  weeks  have  glided  by;  another  day  and 
Jean  will  be  obliged  to  leave  with  his  regiment  for  the 
artillery  practice.  He  will  lead  the  life  of  a  soldier. 
Ten  days'  march  on  the  high-road  going  and  return- 
ing, and  ten  days  in  the  camp  at  Cercottes  in  the 
forest  of  Orleans.  The  regiment  will  return  to  Sou- 
vigny  on  the  loth  of  August. 

Jean  is  no  longer  tranquil  ;  Jean  is  no  longer  happy. 
He  sees  approach  with  impatience,  and  at  the  same 
time  with  terror,  the  moment  of  his  departure.  With 
imi)atience,  for  he  suffers  an  absolute  martyrdom  ;  he 
longs  to  escape  from  it.  With  terror,  for  to  pass 
twenty  days  without  seeing  her,  without  speaking  to 
her, — without  her,  in  a  word, — what  will  become  of 
him  }     Her  !  it  is  Bettina  :  he  adores  her  ! 


THE   ABBE    CON  ST  AN  TIN.  I43 

Since  when  ?  Since  the  first  day,  since  thnt  meeting 
in  the  month  of  May  iii  the  cure's  garden.  That  is 
the  truth  ;  but  Jean  struggles  against  and  resists  tiuit 
truth.  He  beheves  that  he  has  only  loved  Bettina 
since  the  day  when  the  two  chatted  gayly,  amicably, 
in  the  little  drawing  room.  She  was  sitting  on  the 
blue  couch  near  the  window,  and  while  talking  amused 
herself  with  repairing  the  disorder  of  the  dress  of  a 
Japanese  princess,  one  of  Bella's  dolls,  whicii  she  had 
left  on  a  chair,  and  which  Bettina  had  meciianically 
taken  up. 

Why  had  the  fancy  come  to  Miss  Percival  to  talk  to 
him  of  those  two  young  girls  whom  he  might  have 
married  ?  The  question  of  itself  was  not  at  all 
embarrassing  to  hini.  He  had  replied  that  if  he  had 
not  then  felt  aiiy  taste  for  marriage  it  was  because  his 
interviews  with  tliese  two  girls  had  not  caused  him 
any  emotion  or  any  agitation.  He  had  smiled  in 
speaking  thus  ;  but  a  few  minutes  after  he  smiled  no 
more.  This  emotion,  this  agitation,  he  had  suddenly 
learned  to  kiiow  them.  Jean  did  not  deceive  him- 
self ;  he  acknowledged  the  depth  of  the  wound.  It 
had  penetrated  to  his  very  heart's  core. 

Jean,  however,  did  not  abandon  himself  to  this  emo- 
tion. He  said  to  himself  :  "  Yes,  it  is  serious,  very 
serious,  but  I  shall  recover  from  it." 

He  sought  an  excuse  for  his  madness  ;  he  laid  the 
blame  on  circumstances.  For  ten  days  this  delightful 
girl  had  been  too  much  with  him,  too  much  with  him 
alone  !  How  could  he  resist  such  a  temptation  ?  He 
was  intoxicated  with  her  charm,  with  her  grace  and 


144  THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN. 

beauty.  But  the  next  day  a  troop  of  visitors  would 
arrive  at  Longueval,  and  there  would  be  an  end  of  this 
dangerous  intimacy.  He  would  have  courage  ;  he 
would  keep  at  a  distance  ;  he  would  lose  himself  in 
the  crowd,  would  see  Bettina  less  often  and  less 
familiarly.  To  see  her  no  more  was  a  thought  he 
could  not  support  !  He  wished  to  remain  Bettina's 
friend,  since  he  could  be  nothing  but  her  friend  ;  for 
there  was  another  thought  which  scarcely  entered  the 
mind  of  Jean.  This  thought  did  not  appear  extrava- 
gant to  him  ;  it  appeared  monstrous.  In  the  whole 
world  there  was  not  a  more  honorable  man  than  Jean, 
and  he  felt  for  Bettina's  money  horror,  positively 
horror. 

From  the  25th  of  June  the  crowd  had  been  in  pos- 
session of  Longueval.  Mrs.  Norton  arrived  with  her 
son,  Daniel  Norton,  and  Mrs.  Turner  with  her  son, 
Philip  Turner.  Both  of  them,  the  young  Philip  and 
the  young  Daniel,  formed  a  part  of  the  famous 
brotherhood  of  the  thirty-four.  They  were  old 
friends  ;  Bettina  had  treated  them  as  such,  and  had 
declared  to  them  with  i)erfect  frankness  that  they  were 
losing  their  time.  However,  they  were  not  discour- 
aged, and  formed  the  centre  of  a  little  court  which 
was  always  very  eager  and  assiduous  around  Bettina. 

Paul  de  Lavardens  had  made  his  appearance  on 
this  scene,  and  had  very  rapidly  become  everybody's 
friend.  He  had  received  the  brilliant  and  complicated 
education  of  a  young  man  destined  for  pleasure.  As 
soon  as  it  was  a  question  only  of  amusement,  riding, 
croquet,   lawn    tennis,  polo,  dancing,   charades,    and 


THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIN.  U5 

theatricals,  he  was  read}-  for  everytliing,  he  excelled  in 
everything.  His  superiority  was  evident,  unquestion- 
able. Paul  became  in  a  short  tiine  by  general  consent 
the  director  and  organizer  of  ihe  fetes  at  Longueval. 

Bettina  had  not  a  moment  of  hesitation.  Jean 
introduced  P;uil  de  Lavardens ;  and  the  latter  had 
scarcely  concluded  the  customary  little  compliment 
when  Miss  Pcrcival,  leaning  toward  her  sister,  whis- 
pered in  her  ear  : 

"The  thirty-tifih  !" 

However,  she  received  Paul  very  kindly,  so  kindly 
that  for  several  days  he  had  the  weakness  to  misun- 
derstand her.  He  believed  that  it  was  his  personal 
graces  which  had  obtained  for  him  this  very  flattering 
and  cordial  reception.  It  was  a  great  mistake.  Paul 
de  Lavardens  had  been  introduced  by  Jean  ;  he  was 
the  friend  of  Jean.  \\\  Bettina's  eyes  therein  lay  all 
his  merit. 

Mrs.  Scott's  castle  was  open  house.  People  were 
not  invited  for  one  evening  only,  but  for  every  even- 
ing;  and  Paul,  witii  enthusiasm,  came  every  evening. 
His  dream  u-as  at  last  realized  ;  he  had  found  Paris 
at  Longueval. 

But  Paul  was  neither  blind  nor  a  fool.  No  doubt 
he  was,  on  Miss  Percival's  part,  the  object  of  very 
particular  attention  and  favor.  It  pleased  her  to  talk 
long,  very  long,  alone  with  him.  But  what  was  the 
eternal,  the  inexhaustible  subject  of  their  conversa- 
tions.^    Jean,  again  Jean,  and  always  Jean  ! 

Paul  was  thoughtless,  dissipated,  frivolous  ;  but  he 
became  in  earnest  when  Jean  was  in  question.      He 


146  THE   ABBE    CONSTANTLY. 

knew  how  to  appreciate  hini  ;  he  knew  how  t(i  love 
him.  Nothing  to  him  was  sweeter,  nothing"  was 
easier,  than  to  say  of  the  friend  of  his  childhood  all  the 
good  that  he  thought  of  him  ;  and  as  he  saw  that 
Bettina  listened  with  great  pleasure,  Paul  gave  fiee 
rein  to  his  eloquence. 

Only — and  he  was  quite  right — Paul  wished  one 
evening  to  reap  the  benefit  of  his  chivalrous  conduct. 
He  had  just  been  talking  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
with  Bettina.  The  conversation  finished,  he  went  to 
look  for  Jean  at  the  other  end  of  the  drawing  room, 
and  said  to  him  : 

"  You  left  the  field  open  to  me,  and  I  have  made  a 
bold  stroke  for  Miss  Percival." 

"  Well,  you  have  no  reason  to  be  discontented  with 
the  result  of  the  enterprise.  You  are  the  best  friends 
in  the  world." 

"Yes,  certainly;  pretty  well,  but  not  quite  satis- 
factory. There  is  nothing  more  amiable  or  more 
charm.ing  than  Miss  Percival  ;  and  really  it  is  very 
good  of  me  to  acknowledge  it,  for,  between  ourselves, 
she  makes  me  play  an  ungrateful  and  ridiculous 
role — a  role  which  is  quite  unsuited  to  my  age.  I  am, 
you  will  admit,  of  the  lover's  age,  and  not  of  that  of 
the  confidant."  '-' 

'*  Of  the  confidant  }  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  fellow,  of  the  contidant  !  That  is 
my  occupation  in  this  house.  You  were  looking  at 
us  just  now.  Oh,  I  have  very  good  eyes ;  you  were 
looking  at  us.  Well,  do  you  know  what  we  were 
talking  about  .^     Of   you,  my  dear   fellow,  of    you,  of 


THE   ABBE    COX  STAN  TIN.  I47 

you  again,  of  nothing'  but  you.  And  it  is  tlie  same 
thing  every  evening;  there  is  no  ^x\(\  to  the  questions  : 

"  '  You  were  brought  up  together?  You  took  les- 
sons together  from  the  Abbe  Constantin  ?  Will  he 
soon  be  captain  ?     And  then  ?  ' 

"  '  Commandant.' 

"  '  And   then  ?  ' 

"  '  Colonel,  etc.,  etc.,  etc' 

"Ah,  I  can  tell  you,  my  friend  Jean,  if  you  liked, 
5'ou  might  dream  a  very  delicious  dream." 

Jean  was  annoyed,  almost  angry.  Paul  was  much 
astonished  at  this  sudden  attack  of  irritability. 

"What   is  the  matter?     Have  I  said  anything?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  I  was  wrong.  But  how 
could  you  take  such  an  absurd  idea  into  your  head  ?" 

"  Absurd  !  I  don't  see  it.  I  have  entertained  the 
absurd  idea  on  my  own  account." 

"  Ah  !  you " 

"  Why  '  Ah  !  me  '  ?  If  I  have  had  it,  you  may  have 
it  ;  you  are  better  worth  it  than  I  am." 

"  Paul,  I  entreat  you  !  " 

Jean's  discomfort  was  evident. 

"  We  will  not  speak  of  it  ngain  ;  we  will  not  speak 
of  it  again.  What  I  wanted  to  say,  in  short,  is  that 
Mis^Percival  tliinks  me  very  nice,  very  nice  ;  but  as 
to  thinking  of  me  seriously,  that  little  person  will 
never  think  of  me  seriously.  I  must  fall  back  upon 
Mrs.  Scott,  but  without  much  confidence.  You  see, 
Jean,  I  shall  amuse  myself  in  this  house,  but  I  shall 
make  nothing  out  of  it." 

Paul  de  Lavardens  did   fall   back  upon  Mrs.  Scott, 


148  THE   ABBE    COXSTANTIN'. 

but  the  next  day  was  surprised  to  stumble  upon  Jean, 
who  had  taken  to  jilaciug  himself  veiy  regularly  in 
Mrs.  Scott's  particular  circle,  for,  like  Bettina,  she 
had  also  her  little  court.  But  what  Jean  sought 
there  was  a  protec;ion,  a  shelter,  a  refuge. 

The  day  of  that  memorable  conversation  on  mar- 
riage without  love  Bettina  had  also,  for  the  first  time, 
felt  suddenly  awake  in  her  that  necessity  of  loving 
which  sleeps,  but  not  very  ])rofoundly,  in  the  henrts 
of  all  young  girls.  The  sensation  had  been  the 
same,  a^  the  same  moment,  in  the  soul  of  Bettina  and 
the  soul  of  Jean.  He,  terrified,  had  cast  it  violeiUly 
from  him.  She,  on  the  contrary,  had  yielded  in  all 
the  simplicity  of  her  perfect  innocence  to  this  flood  of 
emotion  and  of  tenderness. 

She  had  waited  for  love.  Could  this  be  love  .'^  The 
man  who  was  to  be  her  tiiought.  her  life,  her  soul  — 
could  tin's  be  he,  this  Jean  }  Why  not  ?  She  knew 
him  better  than  she  knew  all  those  who  during  the 
past  year  had  haunted  her  for  her  fortune,  and  in 
what  she  knew  of  him  there  was  nothing  to  discour- 
age the  love  of  a  good  girl.     Far  from  it  I 

Both  of  them  did  well  ;  both  of  them  weie  in  the 
way  of  duty  and  of  truth  — she  in  yielding,  he  in 
resisting;  she  in  not  thinking  for  a  moment  of  the 
obscurity  of  Jean,  he  in  recoiling  before  her  mountain 
of  wealth  as  he  would  have  recoiled  befoie  a  crime  » 
she  in  thinking  that  she  had  no  right  to  parley  with 
love,  he  in  thinking  he  had  no  rigiU  to  parley  with 
honor. 

This  is  why,  in  proportion  as  Bettina  showed  her- 


THE   ABBE   COySTANTIX.  I49 

self  more  tendei',  and  ahaiuloned  lierself  with  more 
frankness  to  the  first  call  of  love — this  is  why  Jean 
became  day  by  day  more  gloomy  and  more  restless. 
He  was  not  only  afraid  of  loving-  ;  he  was  afraid  of 
being  loved. 

He  ought  to  have  remained  away  ;  he  should  not 
have  come  near  her.  He  had  tried  ;  he  could  not. 
The  temptation  was  too  strong  ;  it  carried  him  away, 
so  he  came.  She  would  come  to  him,  her  hands 
extended,  a  sm.ile  on  her  lips,  and  her  heart  in  her 
eyes.  Everything  in  her  said  :  "  Let  us  try  to  love 
each  other,  and  if  we  can  we  will  love  !  " 

Fear  seized  him.  Those  two  hands  which  offei^ed 
themselves  to  the  pressure  of  his  hands,  he  scarcely 
dared  to  touch  them.  He  tried  to  escape  those  eyes 
which,  tender  and  smiling,  anxious  and  curious,  tried 
to  meet  his  eyes.  He  trembled  before  the  necessity 
of  speaking  to  Bettina,  before  the  necessity  of  listen- 
ing to  hei-. 

It  was  then  that  Jean  took  refuge  with  Mrs.  Scott, 
and  it  was  then  that  Mrs.  Scott  gathered  those  uncer- 
tain, agitated,  troubled  words  which  were  not 
addressed  to  her,  and  which  she  took  for  herself 
nevertheless.  It  would  have  been  difficult  not  to  have 
been  mistaken. 

For  of  these  still  vague  and  confused  sentiments 
which  agitated  her  Bettina  had  as  yet  said  nothing. 
She  guarded  and  caressed  the  secret  of  her  budding 
love  as  a  miser  guards  and  caresses  the  first  coins  of 
his  treasure.  The  day  when  she  should  see  clearly 
into  her  own  heart,  the  day  that  she  should  be  sure 


150  THE   ABBE    CONSrAXriN. 

that  she  loved— ah  !  she  would  speak  tliat  day,  and 
how  happy  she  should  be  to  tell  all  to  Suzie  ! 

Mrs.  Scott  had  tw^X^^X  by  attributing  lo  htrself  this 
melancholy  of  Jean,  which  day  by  day  took  a  more 
marked  character.  Siie  was  flattered  by  it — a  woman 
is  never  displeased  at  thiid<ing  herself  beloved — and 
vexed  at  the  same  time.  She  held  Jean  in  great 
esteem,  in  great  affection  ;  but  she  was  gieaily 
distressed  at  the  thought  that  if  he  were  sad  and 
unhappy  it  was  because  of  her. 

Suzie  was,  besides,  conscious  of  her  own  innocence. 
With  others  she  had  sometimes  been  coquettish,  very 
coquettish.  To  torment  tht-m  a  little,  was  that  such  a 
great  crime?  They  had  nothing  to  do;  they  were 
good-for-nothing;  it  occupied  them  while  it  amused 
her.  It  helped  them  to  pass  their  lime,  and  it  helped 
her,  too.  But  Suzie  had  not  to  rei)roach  herself  for 
having  flirted  with  Jean.  She  recognized  his  merit 
and  his  superiority.  He  was  worth  more  than  the 
others  ;  he  was  a  man  to  suffer  seriously,  and  that  was 
what  Mrs.  Scott  did  not  wish.  Already  two  or  three 
times  she  had  been  on  the  [)oint  of  speaking  to  him 
very  seriously,  very  affectionately,  but  she  had  reflected 
Jean  was  going  away  for  three  weeks;  on  his  return, 
if  it  were  still  necessary,  she  would  read  him  a  lecture, 
and  would  act  in  such  a  manner  that  love  should  not 
come  and  foolishly  interfere  in  their  friendship. 

So  Jean  was  to  go  the  next  day.  Beltina  had 
insisted  that  he  should  spend  this  last  day  at  Longue- 
val.and  dine  at  the  house,  Jean  had  refused,  alleging 
that  he  had  much  to  do  the  night  before  his  departure. 


THE  ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN.  151 

He  arrived  in  the  evening,  about  half-past  ten  ;  he 
canie  on  foot.  Several  times  on  the  way  he  had  been 
inclined  to  return. 

"  If  I  had  courage  enough,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I 
would  not  see  her  again.  I  shall  leave  to-morrow, 
and  return  no  more  to  Souvigny  while  she  is  there. 
My  resolution  is  taken,  and  taken  forever." 

But  he  continued  his  way  ;  he  would  see  her  again 
— for  the  last  time. 

As  soon  as  he  entered  the  drawing  room  Bettina 
hastened  to  him. 

"  It  is  you  at  last  !     How  late  you  are  !  " 

"  I  have  been  very  busy." 

"  And  you  are  going  to-morrow  }  " 

"  Yes,  to-morrow." 

"Early.?" 

"  At  five  in  the  morning." 

"  You  will  go  by  the  road  which  runs  by  the  wall  of 
the  park,  and  goes  through  the  village?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  way  we  shall  go." 

"Why  so  early  in  the  morning?  I  would  have 
gone  out  on  the  terrace  to  see  you  pass  and  to  wish 
you  good-by." 

Bettina  detained  for  a  moment  Jean's  burning  hand 
in  hers.     He  drew  it  mournfully  away  with  an  effort. 

"  I  must  go  and  speak  to  your  sister,"  said  he. 

"  Directly.  She  has  not  seen  you  ;  there  are  a 
dozen  persons  round  her.  Come  and  sit  here  a  little 
while  near  me." 

He  was  obliged  to  seat  himself  beside  her. 

"  We  are  going  away,  too,"  said  she. 


152  THE   ABBE   CO.YSrANTIN, 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Yes.  An  hour  ago  we  received  a  telegram  from 
my  l)rother-in-la\v  whicii  has  caused  us  great  joy. 
We  did  not  expect  him  for  a  month,  l)ut  he  is  coming 
back  in  a  fortnight.  He  will  embark  the  day  after  to- 
morrow at  New  York,  on  board  the  Labrador.  We 
are  going  to  meet  him  at  Havre.  We  shall  also  start 
the  day  after  to-morrow.  We  are  going  to  take  the 
children  ;  it  will  do  them  a  great  deal  of  good  to 
spend  a  few  days  at  the  seaside.  How  pleased  my 
brother-in-law  will  be  to  know  you  !  He  knows  you 
already;  we  have  spoken  of  you  in  all  our  letters.  I 
am  sure  you  and  Mr.  Scott  will  get  on  extremely  well 
together,  he  is  so  good.  How  long  will  you  stay 
away  ?  " 

"  Three  weeks." 

"  Three  weeks  in  a  cam]-)  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Percival,  in  the  camp  of  Cercottes." 

"  In  the  middle  of  the  forest  of  Orleans.  I  made 
your  godfather  explain  all  about  it  to  me  this  morn- 
ing. Of  course  I  am  delighted  to  go  to  meet  my 
brother-in-law,  but  at  the  same  time  I  am  a  little 
sorry  to  leave  here,  for  I  would  have  gone  every  morn- 
ing to  pay  a  little  visit  to  M.  I'Abbe.  He  would  have 
given  me  news  of  you.  Perhaps,  in  about  ten  days, 
you  will  write  to  my  sister  a  little  note  of  three  or  four 
lines, — it  will  not  take  much  of  your  time, — just  to  lell 
her  how  you  are,  and  that  you  do  not  forget  us." 

"  Oh  !  as  to  forgetting  you,  as  to  losing  the  remem- 
brance of  your  exti'eme  kindness,  your  goodness, 
never.  Miss  Percival,  never." 


THE   ABBE    CONSTAXTIX.  I53 

His  voice  trembled  ;  he  was  afraid  of  his  own 
emotion.     He  rose. 

"  I  assure  you,  Miss  Percival,  I  must  go  and  speak 
to  your  sister.  She  is  looking-  at  me.  She  must  be 
astonished.  " 

He  crossed  the  room  ;  Bettina  followed  him  with 
her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Norton  had  just  placed  herself  at  the  piano  to 
play  a  waltz  for  the  young  jieople. 

Paul  de  Lavardens  approached  Miss  Percival. 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  honor,  Miss  Percival  }  " 

"  I  believe  1  have  just  promised  this  dance  to 
M.  Jean,"  she  replied. 

"  Well,  if  not  to  him,  will  you  giv'e  it  to  me  }  " 

"  That  is  understood." 

Bettina  walked  toward  Jean,  who  had  seated  him- 
self near  Mrs.  Scott, 

"  I  have  just  told  a  dreadful  story,"  said  she.  "  M. 
de  Lavardens  has  asked  me  for  this  dance  ;  and  I 
replied  that  I  had  promised  it  to  you.  You  would  like 
it,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

To  hold  her  in  his  arms,  to  breathe  the  perfume  of 
her  hair  — Jean  felt  his  courage  could  not  supi)ort  this 
ordeal  ;  he  dared  not  accept. 

"  I  regret  extremely  I  cannot  ;  I  am  not  well  to- 
night. I  persisted  in  coming  because  I  would  not 
leave  without  wishing  you  good-by  ;  but  dance  !  no,  it 
is  impossible ! " 

Mrs.  Norton  began  the  prelude  of  the  waltz. 

"  Well,"  said  Paul,  coming  up  quite  joyful,  "  who  is 
it  to  be,  he  or  I  ?  " 


154  THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIN. 

"  You,"  she  said  sadly,  without  removing  her  eyes 
from  Jean. 

She  was  much  disturbed,  and  rephed  without  know- 
ing well  what  she  said.  She  immediately  regretted 
having  accepted  ;  she  would  have  liked  to  stay  there, 
near  him.  But  it  was  too  late  ;  Paul  took  her  hand 
and  led  her  away. 

Jean  rose.  He  looked  at  the  two,  Bettina  and 
Paul  ;  a  haze  floated  before  his  eyes ;  he  suffered 
cruelly. 

•'There  is  only  one  thing  I  can  do,"  thought  he — 
"  profit  by  this  waltz,  and  go.  To-morrow  I  will 
write  a  few  lines  to  Mrs,  Scott  to  excuse  myself." 

He  gained  the  door.  He  looked  no  more  at 
Bettina;  had  he  looked,  he  would    have  stayed. 

But  Bettina  looked  at  him  ;  and  all  at  once  she  said 
to  Paul : 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  but  I  am  a  little  tired  ;  let 
us  stop,  please.     You  will  excuse  me,  will  you  not  }  " 

Paul  offered  his  arm. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  she. 

The  door  was  just  closing;  Jean  was  no  longer 
there.  Bettina  ran  across  the  room.  Paul  remained 
alone,  much  surprised,  understanding  nothing  of  what 
had  passed. 

Jean  was  already  at  the  hall-door,  when  he  heard 
someone  call,  "  M.  Jean  !  M.  Jean  !  " 

He  stopped  and  turned.     She  was  near  him. 

"  You  are  going   without  wishing  me   good-by  .'*  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  I  am  very  tired." 

"Then  you    must  not  walk  home;  the  weather  is 


THE  ABBE    CONSTANTIiY.  157 

threatening,"  she  extended  her  liand  out  of  doors — 
•'  it  is  raining  ah'eady  !  " 

"  Come  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  in  tiie  little  drawing 
room,  and  I  will  tell  them  to  drive  you  home,"  and, 
turning  toward  one  of  the  footmen  :  "  Tell  them  ta 
send  a  carriage  round  directly." 

"  No,  Miss  Percival,  pray  !  the  open  air  will  revive 
nie.     I  must  walk  ;    let  me  go." 

"  Go,  then.  But  you  have  no  great-coat  ;  take 
something   to    wrap    yourself   in." 

"  I  shall  not  be  cold,  while  you  with  that  open 
dress  — I  shall  go  to  oblige  you  to  go  in,"  And  with- 
out even  offering  his  hand  he  ran  quickly  down  the 
steps. 

"  If  I  touch  her  hand,"  he  thought,  "  I  am  lost  ;  my 
secret  will  escape  me." 

His  secret  !  He  did  not  know  that  Bettina  read  his 
heart  like  an  open  book. 

When  Jean  had  descended  the  steps,  he  hesitated 
one  short  moment  ;  these  words  were  upon  his 
lips  : 

"  I  love  you,  I  adore  you,  and  that  is  why  I  will  see 
you  no  more  I  " 

But  he  did  not  utter  these  words  ;  he  fled  away  and 
was  soon  lost  in  the  darkness. 

Bettina  remained  there  against  the  brilliant  back- 
ground made  by  the  light  from  the  hall.  Great  drops 
of  rain  driven  by  the  wind  swept  across  her  bare 
shoulders  and  made  her  shiver.  She  took  no  notice; 
she  distinctly  heard  her  heart  beat. 

"  I  knew  very  well  that  he  loved  me,"  she  thought : 


158  THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  ITN, 

*'  but  now  I  am  very  sure  that  I  too — oh,  yes  !  I 
too " 

All  at  once  in  one  of  the  great  minors  in  the  hall- 
door  she  saw  the  reflection  of  the  two  footmen  who 
stood  there  motionless  near  the  oak  table  in  the  hall. 
Bettina  heard  bursts  of  laughter  and  the  strains  of  the 
waltz;  she  stopped.  She  wished  to  be  alone,  com- 
pletely alone  ;  and,  addressing  one  of  the  servants,  she 
said  : 

"Go  and  tell  your  mistress  that  I  am  very  tired^ 
and  have  gone  to  my  own  room/' 

Annie,  her  maid,  had  fallen  asleep  in  an  easy-chair. 
She  sent  her  away.  She  would  undress  herself.  She 
let  herself  sink  on  a  couch  ;  she  was  oppressed  with 
delicious  emotion. 

The  door  of  her  room  opened  :  it  was  Mrs.  Scott. 

"  You  are  not  well,  Bettina  }  " 

"  Oh,  Suzie  !  is  it  you,  my  Suzie  ?  how  nice  of  you 
to  come!     Sit  here,  close  to  me,  quite  close  to    me." 

She  hid  herself  like  a  child  in  the  arms  of  her  sis- 
ter, caressing  with  her  burning  brow  Suzie's  fresh 
shoulders.  Then  she  suddenly  burst  into  sobs,  great 
sobs,  which  stifled,  suffocated  her. 

"  Bettina,  my  darling,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing  !  it  is  nothing  ;  it  is  joy — joy  !  " 

"Joy?" 

"  Yes,  yes;  wait ;  let  me  cry  a  little,  it  will  do  me 
so  much  good.  But  do  not  be  frightened  ;  do  not  be 
frightened." 

Beneath  her  sister's  caress  Bettina  grew  calm, 
soothed. 


THE   ABBE    COXSTAXTEV.  I59 

"  It  is  over  ;  I  am  better  now,  and  I  can  talk  to 
you.     It  is  about  Jean." 

"  Jean  !     You  call  him  Jean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  call  him  Jean,  Have  you  not  noticed 
for  some  time  that  he  was  dull  and  looked  quite 
melancholy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have." 

"  When  he  came,  he  went  and  posted  himself  near 
you,  and  stayed  there,  silent,  absorbed,  to  such  a 
degree  that  for  several  days  I  asked  myself, — pardon 
me  for  speaking  to  you  with  such  frankness;  it  is  my 
way,  you  know, — I  asked  myself  if  it  were  not  you 
whom  he  loved,  Suzie  ;  you  are  so  charming,  it  would 
have  been  so  natural  !  But  no,  it  was  not  you,  it 
was    I !  " 

"  You  !  " 

"  Yes,  I.  Listen  :  he  scarcely  dared  to  look  at  me  ; 
he  avoided  me  ;  he  fled  from  me  ;  he  was  afraid  of 
me,  evidently  afraid.  Now,  in  justice,  am  I  a  person 
to  inspire  fear?     I  am  sure  I  am  not  I  " 

"  Certainly  not  !  " 

"  Ah!  it  was  not  I  of  whom  he  was  afraid,  it  was 
my  money,  rjT/  horrid  money  !  This  money,  which 
attracts  all  the  others  and  tempts  them  so  much — 
this  money  terrifies  him,  drives  him  desperate  because 
he  is  not  like  the  others,  because  he " 

"  My  child,  take  care  ;   perhaps  you  are  mistaken." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  not  mistaken.  Just  now,  at  the 
door,  when  he  was  going  away,  he  said  some  words 
to  me.  These  words  were  nothing.  But  if  you  had 
seen  his  distress  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  control 


i6o  THE   ABBE    COXSTANTIN. 

it  !  Suzie.  dear  Suzie,  by  the  affection  whicli  I  bear 
you  (and  God  knows  how  great  is  that  affection),  this 
is  my  conviction,  my  absolute  conviction  :  if  instead 
of  being  Miss  Percival  I  had  been  a  poor  httle  girl 
without  a  penny,  Jean  would  then  have  taken  my 
hand,  and  have  told  me  that  he  loved  me  ;  and  if  he 
had  spoken  to  me  thus,  do  you  know  what  I  should 
have  replied  ?  " 

"  That  you  loved  him,  too  ?" 

"Yes;  and  that  is  why  I  am  so  happy.  With  me 
it  is  a  tixed  idea  that  I  must  adore  the  man  who  will 
be  my  husband.  Well  !  I  don't  say  that  I  adore 
Jean — no,  not  yet  ;  but  still  it  is  beginning,  Suzie,  and 
it  is  beginning  so  sweetly." 

"  Bettina,  it  really  makes  me  uneasy  to  see  you  in 
this  state  of  excitement.  1  do  not  deny  that  M.  Rey- 
naud  is  much  attached  to  you " 

"  Oh  !  more  than  that,  more  than  that  !" 

"  Loves  you,  if  you  like  ;  yes,  you  are  right,  you  are 
quite  right.  He  loves  you  ;  and  are  you  not  worthy, 
my  darling,  of  all  the  love  that  one  can  bear  you  ?  As 
to  Jean, — it  is  progressing  decidedly  ;  here  am  I  also 
calling  him  Jean, — well  !  you  know  what  I  think  of 
him.  I  rank  him  very,  very  high.  But,  in  spite  of 
that,  is  he  really  a  suitable  husband  for  you  }  " 

•'  Yes,  if  I  love  him." 

"  I  am  trying  to  talk  sensibly  to  you,  and  you,  on  the 
contrary Understand  me,  Bettina;  I  have  an  ex- 
perience of  the  world  which  you  cannot  have.  Since 
our  arrival  in  Paris  we  have  been  launched  into  a  very 
brilliant,    very    animated,    very    aristocratic     society. 


<^5^!i:^-     V' 


( 


THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIN.  163 

You  might  have  been  ah-eady,  if  you  had  liked, 
marchioness  or  princess." 

"  Yes,  but  I  (X\([  not  hke." 

"  It  would  not  matter  to  you  to  be  called  Mme. 
R.eynaud  ?  " 

"Not  in  the  least,  if  I  love  him." 

"  Ah  !  you  return  always  to " 

"  Because  that  is  the  true  question.  There  is  no 
other.  Now,  I  will  be  sensible  in  my  turn..  This 
question  — 1  grant  that  this  is  not  quite  settled,  and 
that  I  have  perhaps  allowed  myself  to  be  too  easily 
persuaded.  You  see  how  sensible  I  am.  Jean  is 
going  away  to-morrow  ;  I  shall  not  see  him  again 
for  three  weeks.  During  these  three  weeks  I  shall 
have  ample  time  to  question  myself,  to  examine 
myself — in  a  word,  to  know  my  own  mind.  Under 
my  giddy  manner  I  am  serious  and  thoughtful  ;  you 
know  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  it." 

"  Well,  I  will  make  this  petition  to  you,  as  I  would 
have  addressed  it  to  our  mother  had  she  been  here. 
If  in  three  weeks  I  say  to  you  :  '  Suzie,  I  am  certain 
that  I  love  him,'  will  you  allow  me  to  go  to  him  my- 
self, quite  alone,  and  ask  him  if  he  will  have  me  for 
his  wife  ?  That  is  what  you  did  with  Richard.  Tell 
me,  Suzie,  will  you  allow  me  }  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  allow  you." 

Bettina  embraced  her  sister,  and  murmured  these 
words  in  her  ear  : 

"  Thank  you,  mamma." 

"  Mamma,  mamma  !     It  was  thus  that  you  used  to 


1 64  THE  ABBE   COXSTANTIX. 

call  me  when  you  were  a  child,  when  we  were  alone 
in  the  world  together,  when  I  used  to  undress  you  in 
our  poor  room  in  New  York,  when  I  held  you  in  my 
arms,  when  I  laid  you  in  your  little  bed,  when  I 
sang-  you  to  sleep.  And  since  then,  Bettina,  I  have 
liad  only  one  desire  in  the  world— yoiu'  happiness. 
Tliat  is  why  I  beg  you  to  reflect  well.  Do  not  answer 
me  ;  do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  of  that.  I  wish  to 
leave  you  very  calm,  very  tranquil.  You  have  sent 
away  Annie  ;  would  you  like  me  to  be  your  little 
mamma  again  to-night,  to  undress  you,  and  put  you 
to  bed  as  I  used  to  do  }  " 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  it  very  much." 

"  And  when  you  are  in  bed,  you  promise  me  to  be 
very  good  ?  " 

"  As  good  as  an  angel." 

"  You  will  do  your  best  to  go  to  sleep  ?  " 

"  My  very  best." 

"  Very  quietly,  without  thinking  of  anything  ?  " 

•'  Very  quietly,  without  thinking  of  anything." 

"  Very  well,  then." 

Ten  minutes  after  Beltina's  pretty  head  rested 
gently  amid  embroideries  and  lace.  Suzie  said  to  her 
sister  : 

"  I  am  going  down  to  those  people,  who  bore  me 
dreadfully  this  evening.  Before  going  to  my  own 
room  I  shall  come  back  and  see  if  you  are  asleep. 
Do  not  speak.     Go  to  sleep." 

She  went  away.  Bettina  remained  alone.  She 
tried  to  keep  her  word  ;  she  endeavoi'ed  to  go  to  sleep, 
but  only  half  succeeded.     She  fell  into  a  half  slumber, 


7 HE   ABBE    COXSTANTEV.  165 

which  left  her  floating  between  dream  and  reality. 
She  had  pronnsed  to  think  of  nothing,  and  yet  she 
thought  of  hini, — always  of  him,  of  nothing  but  him, — 
vaguely,  confusedly. 

How  long  a  time  passed  thus  she  could  not  tell. 

All  at  once  it  seemed  to  her  that  someone  was 
walking  in  her  room  ;  she  half  opened  her  eyes,  and 
thought  she  recognized  her  sister.  In  a  very  sleepy 
voice  she  said  to  her  :  "  You  know  I  love  him." 

"  Hush  !     Go  to  sleep." 

"  I  am  asleep  !     I  am  asleep  !  " 

At  last  she  did  fall  sound  asleep,  less  profoundly, 
however,  than  usual,  for  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  siie  was  suddenly  awoke  by  a  noise  which 
tile  night  before  would  not  have  disturbed  her  slumber. 
The  rain  fell  in  torrents,  and  beat  against  her  window. 

"Oh,  it  is  raining!"  she  thought;  "he  will  get 
wet  I  " 

That  was  her  flrst  thought.  She  rose,  crossed  the 
room  barefooted,  half  opened  the  shutters.  The  day 
had  broken,  gray  and  lowering;  the  clouds  were 
heavy  with  rain,  the  wind  blew  tempestuously,  and 
drove  the  rain  in  gusts  before  it. 

Bettina  did  not  go  back  to  bed  ;  she  felt  it  would  be 
quite  impossil)le  to  sleep  again.  She  put  on  a  dress- 
ing-gown and  remained  at  the  window  ;  she  watched 
the  falling  rain.  Since  he  positively  must  go,  she 
would  have  liked  the  weather  to  be  fine  ;  she  would 
have  liked  bright  sunshine  to  have  cheered  his  first 
day's  march. 

When  she  came  to  Lonoueval  a  month  ag-o,  Bettina 


1 66  THE  ABBE    CONSTANTiy. 

did  not  know  what  this  meant  ;  but  she  knew  it  now. 
A  day's  marcii  for  the  artillery  is  twenty  or  thirty 
miles,  with  an  hour's  halt  for  luncheon.  It  was  the 
Abbe  Constantin  who  had  taught  her  that.  When 
going  their  rounds  in  the  morning  among  the  poor, 
Bettina  overwhelmed  the  cui-e  witii  questions  on 
military  affairs,  and  particularly  on  the  artillery. 

Twenty  or  thirty  miles  under  this  pouring  rain! 
Poor  Jean  !  Bettina  thought  of  young  Turner,  young 
Norton,  of  Paul  de  Lavardens,  who  would  sleep  calmly 
till  ten  in  the  morning,  while  Jean  was  exposed  to  this 
deluge. 

Paul  de  Lavardens  ! 

This  name  awoke  in  her  a  painful  memory — the 
memory  of  that  waltz  the  evening  before.  To  have 
danced  like  that  while  Jean  was  so  obviously  in 
trouble!  That  waltz  took  the  proportions  of  a  crime 
in  her  eyes  ;  it  was  a  horriljle  thing  that  she  had 
done. 

And  then  had  she  not  been  wanting  in  courage 
and  frankness  in  that  last  interview  with  Jean  }  He 
neither  could  nor  dared  say  anything  ;  but  she  might 
have  shown  more  tenderness,  more  expansiveness. 
Sad  and  suffering  as  he  was,  she  should  never  have 
allowed  him  to  go  back  on  foot.  She  ought  to  have 
detained  him  at  any  price.  Her  imagination  tor- 
mented and  excited  her  ;  Jean  must  have  carried 
away  with  him  the  impression  that  she  was  a  bad 
little  creature,  heaitless  and  pitiless.  And  in  half  an 
hour  he  was  going  away,  away  for  thi'ee  weeks  !  Ah, 
if   she  could   by  any  means — but   there  was  a  way! 


THE   ABBE    C0XSTAX7IX.  169 

The  regiment  must  pass  along  the  wall  of  the  park, 
under  the  terrace. 

Bettina  was  seized  with  a  wild  desire  to  see  Jean 
l^ass  ;  he  would  understand  well  if  he  saw  her  at 
such  an  hour  that  she  had  come  to  beg  his  pardon  for 
her  cruelty  of  the  previous  evening.  Yes,  she  would 
go  !  But  she  had  promised  to  Suzie  to  be  as  good  as 
an  angel  ;  and  to  do  w  hat  she  was  going  to  do,  was  that 
being  as  good  as  an  angel  ?  She  would  make  up  for 
it  by  acknowledging  all  to  Suzie  when  she  came  in 
again  ;  and  Suzie  would  forgive  her. 

She  would  go  I  She  had  made  up  her  mind.  Only 
how  should  she  dress  herself.^  She  had  nothing  at 
hand  but  a  muslin  dressing-gown,  little  liigh-heeled 
mules,  ar>d  blue  satin  shoes.  She  mit^ht  wake  her 
maid.  Oh  !  never  would  she  dare  to  do  that,  and 
time  pressed.  A  quarter  to  five!  the  regiment  would 
start  at  five  o'clock. 

She  might  perhaps  manage  with  the  muslin  dress- 
ing-gown and  the  satin  slippers  ;  in  the  hall  she 
might  find  her  hat,  her  little  sabots  which  she  wore  in 
the  garden,  and  the  large  tartan  clonk  for  driving  in 
wet  weather.  She  half  opened  her  door  with  infinite 
precautions.  Everything  slept  in  the  house.  She 
crept  along  the  corridor  ;  she  descended  the  staircase. 

if  only  the  little  sabots  are  tliere  in  their  place  ;  that 
is  her  great  anxiety.  There  they  are  I  She  slips 
them  on  over  her  thin  satin  shoes;  she  wraps  herself 
in  her  great  mantle. 

She  hears  that  the  rain  has  redoubled  in  violence. 
She  notices  one  of  those  large  umbrellas  which  the 


lyo  THE  ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN, 

footmen  use  on  the  box  in  wet  weather  ;  she  seizes  it; 
she  is  ready.  But  when  she  is  ready  to  go,  she  sees 
that  the  hall-door  is  fastened  by  a  great  iron  bar. 
She  tries  to  raise  it  ;  but  the  bolt  holds  fast,  resists  all 
her  efforts,  and  the  great  clock  in  the  hall  slowly 
strikes  five.     He  is  starting  at  that  moment. 

She  will  see  him  !  she  will  see  him  !  Her  will  is 
excited  by  these  obstacles.  She  makes  a  great  effort  ; 
the  bar  yields,  shps  back  in  the  groove.  But  Bettina 
lias  made  a  long  scratch  on  her  hand,  from  which 
issues  a  slender  stream  of  blood.  Bettina  twists  her 
handkerchief  round  her  hand,  takes  her  great  um- 
brella, turns  the  key  in  the  lock,  and  opens  the  door. 

At  last  she  is  out  of  the  house  ! 

The  weather  is  frightful  ;  the  wind  and  the  rain 
rage  together.  It  takes  five  or  six  minutes  to  reach 
the  terrace  which  looks  over  the  road.  Bettina  darts 
forward  courageously  ;  her  head  bent,  hidden  under 
iier  immense  umbrella,  she  has  taken  a  few  steps. 
All  at  once,  furious,  mad,  blinding,  a  sudden  squall 
bursts  upon  Bettina,  buries  her  in  her  mantle,  drives 
her  along,  lifts  her  almost  from  the  ground,  turns  the 
umbrella  violently  inside  out.  That  is  nothing  ;  the 
disaster  is  not  yet  complete. 

Bettina  has  lost  one  of  her  little  sabots.  They  were 
not  practical  sabots;  they  were  only  pretty  little  things 
for  fine  weather.  And  at  this  moment,  when  Bettina 
struggles  against  the  tempest  with  her  blue  satin 
shoe  half  buried  in  the  w^et  gravel,  at  this  moment  the 
wind  bears  to  her  the  distant  echo  of  a  blast  of 
trimipets.     It  is  the  regiinent  starling. 


THE  ABBE    CONSTANTLY.  Ij^ 

Bettina  makes  a  desperate  effort,  abandons  her  um- 
brella, finds  her  little  sabot,  fastens  it  on  as  well  as 
she  can,  and  starts  off  running,  with  a  deluge  descend- 
ing on  her  head. 

At  last  she  is  in  the  woods;  the  trees  protect  her 
a  little.  Another  blast,  nearer  this  time.  Bettina 
fancies  she  hears  the  rolling  of  the  gun-carriages. 
She  makes  a  last  effort.  There  is  the  terrace  ;  she  is 
there  just  in  time. 

Twenty  yards  off  she  perceived  the  white  horses  of 
the  trumpeters  ;  and  along  the  road  she  caught 
glimpses,  vaguely  appearing  through  the  fog,  of  the 
long  line  of  guns  and  wagons. 

She  sheltered  herself  under  one  of  the  old  limes 
which  bordered  the  terrace.  She  watched  ;  she 
waited.  He  is  there  among  that  confused  mass  of 
riders.  Will  she  be  able  to  recognize  liim  ?  And  he, 
will  he  see  her?  Will  any  chance  make  him  turn  his 
head  that  way  ? 

Bettina  knows  that  he  is  lieutenant  in  the  second 
battery  of  his  regiment  ;  she  knows  that  a  battery  is 
composed  of  six  guns  and  six  ammunition-wagons. 
Of  course  it  is  the  Abbe  Constantin  who  has  taught 
her  that.  Thus  she  must  allow  the  tirst  battery  to 
pass  (that  is  to  say,  count  six  guns,  six  wagons),  and 
then— he  will  be  there. 

There  he  is  at  last,  wi'apped  in  his  great  cloak  ; 
and  it  is  he  who  sees,  who  recognizes  her  first.  A 
few  moments  before  he  had  recalled  to  his  mind  a 
long  walk  which  he  had  taken  with  her  one  e\'ening, 
when  night  was  falling,  on  that  terrace.     He  raised 


172  Till':   ABBE    COX  STAN  TIN. 

Iiis  e\"fs,  and  the  very  spot  wlieie  he  reiiieniberecl 
havini;  S"eii  her  was  the  sj'jot  wheie  he  found  her 
iiuain.     He  liowed  ;  and,  bareheaded  in  t!-,e  rain,  turn- 


c^^-^ 


\\vg  round  in  his  sadcUe,  as  Ioul;"  as  he  could  see  her, 
he  looked  at  her.  Pie  said  again  to  himself  what  lie 
had  said  the  [)re\icus  evening  :  "  It  is  for  the  last 
tinit^." 

W'lih   a   charming  gestui'e  of   both    hands    she  re- 


THE   ABBE   CONSTANTIX.  173, 

turned  his  farewell ;  and  this  gesture,  repeated  ninny 
times,  brought    her  hands  so  near,  so  near  her  lips, 

that  one  might  have  fancied "Ah  !"  she  thought, 

"  if  after  that  he  does  not  understand  that  I  love  him, 
and  does  not  forgive  me  my  money  !  " 


CHAPTER  IX. 


It  was  the  loth  of  August,  the  clay  which  should 
bring  Jean  back  to  Longueval. 

Bettina  woke  very  early,  rose,  and  ran  immediately 
to  the  window.  The  evening  before  the  sky  liad 
looked  threatening,  heavy  with  clouds.  Bettina  slept 
but  little,  and  all  night  prayed  that  it  might  not  rain 
the  next  day. 

In  the  early  morning  a  dense  fog  enveloped  the 
park  of  Longueval,  the  trees  of  which  weie  hidden 
fiom  view  as  by  a  curtain.  But  gradually  the  rays  of 
the  sun  dissipated  the  mist  ;  the  trees  became  vaguely 
discernible  through  the  vapor.  Then,  suddenly,  the 
sun  shone  brilliantly,  flooding  with  light  the  park  and 
the  tields  beyond  ;  and  the  lake  where  the  black 
174 


THE   ABBE    CO  lY  ST  AN  TIN.  ill 

swans  were  disporting  themselves  in  the  radiant  light 
appeared  as  bright  as  a  sheet  of  polished  metal. 

The  weather  was  going  to  be  beautiful.  Bettina  is 
a  little  superstitious.  The  sunshine  gives  her  good 
hope  and  good  courage.  "  The  day  begins  well,  so  it 
will  finish  well." 

Mr.  Scott  came  home  some  days  ago.  Suzie, 
Bettina,  and  the  children  waited  on  the  quay  at  Havre 
for  the  arrival  of  his  steamer. 

They  exchanged  many  tender  enibraces  ;  then  Rich- 
ard, addressing  his  sister-in-law,  said  laughingly: 

"  Well,  when  is  the  wedding  to  be  }  " 

"  What  wedding  ?  " 

"  Yours." 

"  My  wedding  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  And  to  whom  am  I  going  to  be  married  ?  " 

"  To  M.  Jean  Reynaud." 

"  Ah  !  Suzie  has  written  to  you  ?" 

"  Suzie  ?  Not  at  all.  Suzie  has  not  said  a  word. 
It  is  you,  Bettina,  who  have  written  to  me.  For  the 
last  two  months  all  your  letters  have  been  occupied 
with  this  young  officer." 

"  All  my  letters  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  you  have  written  to  me  oftener  and 
more  at  length  than  usual.  I  do  not  complain  of 
that ;  but  I  do  ask  when  you  are  going  to  present  me 
with  a  brother-in-law  ?  " 

He  spoke  jestingly,  but  Bettina  replied  : 

"  Soon,  I  hope." 

Mr.  Scott  perceives  that  the  affair  is  serious.     When 


178  THE   ABBE    C0NSTAX7V.V. 

returning  in  the  carriage,  Bettina  asks  Mr.  Scott  if  he 
has  kept  her  letters. 

"Certainly,"  he  replies. 

She  reads  them  again.  It  is  indeed  only  with 
"Jean"  that  all  these  letters  have  been  tilled.  She 
finds  therein  related,  down  to  the  most  trifling  details, 
their  first  meeting.  There  is  the  portrait  of  Jean  in 
the  vicarage  garden,  with  his  straw  hat  and  his  earthen- 
ware salad-dish  ;  and  then  it  is  again  M.  Jean,  always 
M. Jean. 

She  discovers  that  she  has  loved  him  much  longer 
than  she  had  suspected. 

Now  it  is  the  loth  of  August.  Luncheon  is  just 
over,  and  Harry  and  Bella  are  impatient.  They  know^ 
that  between  one  and  two  o'clock  the  regiment  must 
go  through  the  village.  They  have  been  piomised 
that  they  shall  be  taken  to  see  the  soldiers  pass,  and 
for  them  as  well  as  for  Bettina  the  return  of  the 
Ninth  Artillery  is  a  great  event. 

"  Aunt  Betty,"  said  Bella,  "Aunt  Betty,  come  with 
us." 

"  Yes,  do  come,"  said  Harry,  "  do  come  ;  we  shall 
see  our  friend  Jean,  on  his  big  gray  horse." 

Bettina  resisted,  refused  ;  and  yet  how  great  was 
the  temptation  ! 

But  no,  she  would  not  go  ;  she  would  not  see  Jean 
again  till  the  evening,  when  she  would  give  him  that 
decisive  explanation  for  which  she  had  been  prepaiing 
herself  for  the  last  three  weeks. 

The  children  went  away  with  their  governesses. 
Bettina,  Suzie,  and  Richard  went  to  sit  in  the  park, 


/\  THE  ABBE    CON  ST  AN  TEW  179 

quite  close  to  the  castle,  and  as  soon  as  they  were 
establisiied  there,  "  Suzie,"  said  Bettina,  "  I  am  going  to 
remind  you  to-day  of  your  promise.  You  remember 
what  passed  between  us  the  night  of  his  departure : 
we  settleil  that  if  on  tiie  day  of  his  return  I  could  say 
to  you  :  '  Suzie,  I  am  sure  that  I  love  him  ' — we  settled 
that  you  would  allow  me  to  speak  frankly  to  him,  and 
ask  him  if  lie  would  have  me  for  his  wife." 

•'  Yes,  I  did  promise  you.  But  are  you  very  sure  ?  " 
"  Absolutely  ;  and  now  the  time  has  come  to  redeem 
your  promise.  I  warn  you  that  I  intend  to  bring  him 
to  this  very  place,"  she  added,  smiling,  "  to  this  seat; 
and  to  use  almost  the  same  language  to  him  that 
you  formerly  used  to  Richaid.  You  were  successful, 
Suzie  ;  you  are  perfectly  happy,  and  1 — that  is  what  I 
wish  to  be." 

"  Richard,  Suzie  has  told  you  about  M.  Reynaud  ?  " 
"  Yes,  and  she  has  told  me  that  there  is  no  man  of 

whom  she  has  a  higher  opinion,  but " 

"  But  she  has  told  you  that  for  me  it  would  be  a 
rather  quiet,  ratiier  commonplace  marriage.  Oh, 
naughty  sister !  Will  you  believe  it,  Richard,  that  I 
cannot  get  this  fear  out  of  her  head  ?  She  does  not 
understand  that  before  everything  I  wish  to  love  and 
be  loved.  Will  you  believe  it,  Richard,  that  only  last 
week  she  laid  a  horrible  trap  i"or  me  ?  You  know^ 
that  there  exists  a  certain  Prince  Romanelli  ?  " 
"  Yes,  I  know  you  might  have  been  a  princess." 
"  That  would  not  have  been  immensely  difficult,  I 
believe.     Well,  one  day  I  was  so  foolish  as   to  say  to 

Suzie  that  in  extremitv   I    might    accept    the    Prince 

\ 


l8o  THE   ABBE   CONSTANTIN. 

Romanelli.  Now,  just  imagine  wliat  she  did  ?  The 
Turners  were  at  Trouville  ;  Suzie  had  arranged  a  little 
plot.  We  lunched  with  the  prince,  but  the  result  was 
disastrous.  Accept  him  !  The  two  hours  that  I  passed 
with  him  I  passed  in  asking  myself  liow  I  could  liave 
said  such  a  thing.  No,  Richard  ;  no,  Suzie.  I  will 
he  neither  princess  nor  marchioness  nor  countess. 
My  wish  is  to  be  Mme.  Jean  Reynaud — if,  how- 
ever, M.  Jean  Reynaud  will  agree  to  it,  and  that  is  by 
no  means  certain." 

The  regiment  entered  the  village,  and  suddenly 
military  music  burst  martial  and  joyous  across  the 
space.  All  three  remained  silent.  It  was  the  regi- 
ment, it  was  Jean  who  passed.  The  sound  became 
fainter,  died  away  ;  and  Bettina  continued  : 

"  No,  that  is  not  certain.  He  loves  me,  however, 
and  much,  but  without  knowing  well  what  I  am  ;  I 
think  that  I  deserve  to  be  loved  differently.  I  think 
that  I  should  not  cause  him  so  much  terror,  so  much 
fear,  if  he  knew  me  better;  and  that  is  why  I  ask  you 
to  permit  me  to  speak  to  him  this  evening,  freely,  fi'om 
my  heart." 

"  We  will  allow  you,"  rej^lied  Richard  ;  "  you  shall 
speak  to  him  freely,  for  we  know,  both  of  us,  Bettina, 
that  you  will  never  do  anything  but  what  is  noble  and 
generous." 

"  At  least  I  will  try." 

The  children  ran  up  to  them.  They  had  seen  Jean  ; 
he  was  quite  white  with  dust  ;  he  said  good-morning 
to  them. 

"  Only,"  added  Bella,  "he  is  not   very  nice;  he  did 


THE  ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN.  iSi 

not  stop  to  talk  to  us.  Generally  he  stops,  and  this 
time  he  wouldn't." 

"Yes,  he  would,"  replied  Harry;  "for  at  first  he 
seemed  as  if  he  were  going  to.  And  then  he  would 
not  ;  he  went  away." 

"Well,  he  didn't  stop,  and  it  is  so  nice  to  talk  to  a 
soldier,  especially  when  he  is  on  horseback." 

"  It  is  not  that  only,  it  is  that  we  are  very  fond  of 
M.  Jean  ;  if  you  knew,  papa,  how  kind  he  is,  and  how 
nicely  he  j)lays  with  us  I  " 

"  And  what  beautiful  drawings  he  makes  !  Harry, 
you  remember  that  great  Punch  who  was  so  funny, 
with  his  stick,  you  know.^  " 

"  And  the  dog,  there  was  the  little  dog,  too,  as  in 
the  show." 

The  two  children  went  away  talking  of  their  friend 
Jean. 

"  Decidedly,"  said  Mr.  Scott,  "  everyone  likes  him 
in  this  house." 

"  And  you  will  be  like  everyone  else  when  you 
know  him,"  replied  Bettina. 

The  regiment  broke  into  a  trot  along  the  high- 
road after  leaving  the  village.  There  was  the  ter- 
race where  Bettina  had  been  the  other  morning. 
Jean  said  to  himself :  "  Supposing  she  should  be 
here." 

He  dreads  and  hopes  it  at  the  same  time.  He  raises 
his  head  ;  he  looks.     She  is  not  there. 

He  has  not  seen  her  again,  he  will  not  see  her  again, 
for  a  long  time  at  least.  He  will  start  that  very  even- 
ing at  six  o'clock  for  Paris.     One  of  the  personages  in 


I«2  THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIN. 

the  War  Office  is  interested  in  him  ;  he  will  try  to 
get  exchanged  into  another  regiment. 

Alone  at  Cercottes  Jean  has  had  time  to  reflect 
deei)ly,  and  this  is  the  result  of  his  reflections:  he 
cannot,  he  must  not,  be    Bettina  Percival's  husband. 

The  men  dismount  at  the  barracks;  Jean  takes 
leave  of  his  colonel,  his  comrades  ;  all  is  over.  He  is 
free  :  he  can  go. 

But  he  does  not  go  yet ;  he  looks  around  him. 
How  happy  he  was  three  months  ago,  when  he  rode 
out  of  that  great  yard  amid  the  noise  of  the  cannon 
rolling  over  the  pavement  of  Souvigny  ;  but  how  sadly 
he  would  ride  away  to-day  !  Formerly  his  life  was 
there;  where  would  it  be  now  ? 

He  returns  :  he  goes  to  his  own  room.  He  writes 
to  Mrs.  Scott;  he  tells  her  that  his  duties  oblige  him 
to  leave  immediately  ;  he  cannot  dine  at  the  castle, 
and  begs  Mrs.  Scott  to  remember  him  to  Miss  Bettina. 
Bettina— ah.  what  trouble  it  cost  him  to  write  that 
name  !     He  closes  his  letter;  he  will  send  it  directly. 

He  makes  his  preparations  for  departure  ;  then  he 
will  go  to  wish  his  godfather  farewell.  That  is  what 
cost  him  most  ;  he  will  only  speak  to  him  of  a  short 
absence. 

He  opens  one  of  the  drawers  of  his  bureau  to  take 
out  some  money.  The  first  thing  that  meets  his  eyes 
is  a  little  note  on  bluish  paper  ;  it  is  the  only  note 
which  he  has  ever  received  from  her. 

"  Will  }-ou  have  tlie  kindness  to  give  to  the  servant 
the    book    of   which    you    s[)oke    yesterday    evening.^ 


THE   ABBE    CO^VSTANTIiY.  1S3 

Perhaps  it  will  be  a  little  serious  for  me,  but  yet  I 
should  like  to  try  to  read  it.  We  shall  see  you  to- 
night ;  come  as  early  as  possible. 

"  Bettina." 

Jean  read  and  re-read  these  few  lines,  but  soon  he 
could  read  them  no  longer  ;  his  eyes  were  dim. 

"  It  is  all  that  is  left  me  of  her,"  he  thought. 

At  the  same  moment  the  Abbe  Constantin  was 
tete-a-tete  with  old  Pauline  ;  they  were  making  uj) 
their  accounts.  The  financial  situation  is  admirable 
— more  than  two  thousand  francs  in  hand  !  And  the 
wishes  of  Suzie  and  Bettina  are  accomplished;  there  are 
no  more  poor  in  the  neighborhood.  His  old  servant, 
Pauline,  has  even  occasioPial  scruples  of  conscience. 

"  You  see,  M.  le  Cure,"  said  she,  "  perhaps  we  give 
them  a  little  too  much.  Then  it  will  be  spread  about 
in  other  j^arishes  that  here  they  can  always  find 
charity.  And  do  you  know  what  will  happen  then 
one  of  these  days  ?  Poor  people  will  come  and  settle 
at  Longueval." 

The  cure  gave  fifty  francs  to  Pauline.  She  went 
away  to  take  them  to  a  poor  man  who  had  broken  his 
arm  a  few  days  before  by  falling  from  the  top  of  a 
hay-cart. 

The  Abbe  Constantin  remained  aloiie  in  the 
vicarage.  He  is  rather  anxious.  He  has  watched  for 
the  passing  of  the  regiment.  But  Jean  only  stopped 
for  a  moment  ;  he  looked  sad.  For  some  time  the 
abbe  had  noticed  that  Jean  had  no  longer  the  flow  of 
good-humor  and  gayety  he  once  possessed. 


I.S4  THE   ABBE   C0NSTAN7VN. 

Tiie  cure  did  not  disturb  himself  too  much  about  it, 
believing  it  to  be  one  of  those  little  youthful  troubles 
which  did  not  concern  n  poor  old  priest.  But  on  this 
occasion  Jean's  disturbance  was  very  perceptible. 

"  I  will  come  back  ch'rectly,"  he  said  to  the  cure  ; 
"  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

He  turned  abruptly  away.  The  Abbe  Constantin 
bad  not  even  had  time  to  give  Loulou  his  piece  of 
sugar,  or  rather  his  pieces  of  sugar,  for  he  had  put 
five  or  six  in  his  ])ocket,  consideiing  that  Loulou  had 
well  deserved  this  feast  by  ten  long  days'  march,  and 
a  score  of  nights  passed  under  the  o\)tv\  sky. 

Besides,  since  Mrs.  Scott  had  lived  at  Longueval 
Loulou  had  very  often  had  several  j:)ieces  of  sugar  ; 
the  Abbe  Constantin  had  become  extravagant,  prodi- 
gal. He  felt  himself  a  millionnaire  ;  the  sugar  for 
Loulou  was  one  of  his  follies.  One  day  even  he  had 
been  on  the  point  of  addicssing  to  Loulou  his  everlast- 
ing little  speech  : 

"  This  comes  from  the  new  mistresses  of  Longue- 
val ;  pray  for  them  to-night." 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  Jean  arrived  at  the  vicar- 
age ;  and  the  cure  said  immediately  : 

"  You  told  me  that  you  wanted  to  speak  to  me  ; 
what  is  it  about  }  " 

"  About  something,  my  dear  godfather,  which  will 
surprise  you.  will  grieve  you " 

"  Grieve  me  !  " 

"Yes.  and  which  grieves  me,  too,  I  have  come  to 
bid  you  farewell," 


7- HE   ABBE   CON  STAN  TIN.  185 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  away." 

"  When  ?  " 

"To-day,  in  two  hours." 

"  In  two  hours  ?  But,  my  dear  boy,  we  are  going 
to  dine  at  the  castle  to-night." 

"  I  have  just  written  to  Mrs.  Scott  to  excuse  me.  I 
am  positively  obliged  to  go." 

"  Directly.^  " 

"  Directly." 

"  And  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  Paris." 

"  To  Paris  !     Why  this  sudden  determination  }  " 

"  Not  so  very  sudden  !  I  have  thought  about  it  for 
a  long  time." 

"  And  you  have  said  nothing  about  it  to  me  !  Jean, 
something  has  happened  !  You  are  a  man,  and  I 
have  no  longer  the  right  to  treat  you  as  a  child  ;  but 
you  know  how  much  I  love  you.  If  you  have  vexa- 
tions, troubles,  why  not  tell  them  to  me  ?  I  could 
perhaps  advise  you.     Jean,  why  go  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  tell  you,  it  will  give  you  pain  ; 
but  you  have  the  right  to  know.  I  am  going  to  Paris 
to  ask  to  be  exchanged  into  another  regiment." 

"  Into  another  regiment  !     To  leave  Souvigny  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  just  it  ;  I  must  leave  Souvigny  for 
a  short  time,  for  a  little  while  only ;  but  to  leave 
Souvigny  is  necessary — it  is  what  I  wish  above  all 
things." 

"  And  what  about  me,  Jean,  do  you  not  think  of 
me  ?  A  little  while  !  A  little  while  !  But  that  is  all 
that   remains   to    me   of   life— a    little    while.       And 


1 86  THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIN. 

during  these  last  clays,  that  I  owe  to  the  grace  of 
God,  it  was  my  happiness — yes,  Jean,  my  happi- 
ness— to  feel  you  here  near  me  ;  and  now  you  are 
going  away  !  Jean,  wait  a  little  patiently  ;  it  cannot 
be  for  very  long  now.  Wait  until  the  good  God  has 
called  me  to  himself;  wait  till  I  shall  be  gone,  to  meet 
there  at  his  side  your  father  and  your  mother.  Do 
not  go,  Jean  ;  do  not  go." 

"  If  you  love  me,  I  love  you,  too,  and  you  know  it 
well." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it." 

"  I  have  just  the  same  affection  for  you  now  that  I 
had  when  I  was  quite  little,  when  you  took  me  to 
yourself,  when  you  brought  me  up.  iMy  heart  has  not 
changed,  will  never  change.  But  if  duty,  if  honor 
oblige  me  to  go  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  if  it  is  duty,  if  it  is  honor,  I  say  nothing 
more.  Jean,  that  stands  before  all  ! — all ! — all  I  I 
have  always  known  you  a  good  judge  of  your  duty, 
your  honor.  Go,  my  boy  ;  go  !  I  ask  you  nothing 
more  ;  I  wish  to  know  no  more." 

"  But  I  wish  to  tell  you  all,"  cried  Jean,  vanquished 
by  his  emotion,  "  and  it  is  better  that  you  should 
know  all.  You  will  stay  here  ;  you  will  return  to  the 
castle  ;  you  will  see  her  again — her  !  " 

"  See  her  !     Who  .-*  " 

"  Bettina  !  " 

"  Bettina  ?  " 

"  I  adore  her  I    I  adore  her  !  " 

"  Oh,  my  poor  boy  !  " 

"  Pardon  me  for  speaking  to  you  of  these  things  ; 


THE  ABBE   CON  STAN  TIN.  187 

but  I  tell  you  as  I  would  have  told  my  father.  And 
then  I  have  not  been  able  to  speak  of  it  to  anyone, 
and  it  stifled  me  ;  yes,  it  is  a  madness  which  has 
seized  me,  which  has  grown  upon  me  little  by  little 

against    my   will,  for   you    know   very  well My 

God  !  It  was  here  that  I  began  to  love  her.  You  know, 
when  she  came  here  with  her  sister — the  little  I'ou- 
leatix  of  a  thousand  francs — her  hair  fell  down — and 
then  the  evening,  the  month  of  Mary.  Then  I  was 
permitted  to  see  her  freely,  familiarly,  and  you  your- 
self spoke  to  me  constantly  of  her.  You  praised  her 
sweetness,  her  goodness.  How  often  have  you  told 
me  that  there  was  no  one  in  the  world  better  than 
she  is  !  " 

"  And  I  thought  it,  and  I  think  it  still.  And  no  one 
here  knows  her  better  than  I  do,  for  it  is  I  alone  who 
have  seen  her  with  the  poor.  If  you  only  knew  how 
tender  and  how  good  she  is!  Neither  wretchedness 
nor  suffering  repulses  her.  But,  my  dear  boy,  I  am 
wrong  to  tell  you  all  this." 

"  No,  no,  I  will  see  her  no  more,  I  promise  you  ; 
but  I  like  to  hear  you  speak  of  her." 

"  In  your  whole  life,  Jean,  \-ou  will  never  meet  a 
better  woman,  nor  one  who  has  more  deviated  senti- 
ments; to  such  a  point  that  one  day — she  had  taken 
me  with  her  in  an  open  carriage  full  of  toys — she  was 
taking  these  toys  to  a  poor  little  sick  girl,  and  when 
she  gave  them  to  her,  to  make  the  poor  little  thing 
laugh,  to  amuse  her,  she  talked  so  prettily  to  her  that 
I  thought  of  you,  and  I  said  to  myself — I  remember  it 
now ;    '  Ah,  if  she  were  poor  !  '  " 


1 88  THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIN. 

"  Ah  !  if  she  were  poor,  but  she  is  not." 

"Oh,  no!  But  what  can  you  do,  my  poor  child? 
If  it  gives  you  pain  to  see  her,  to  live  near  her, — above 
all,  if  it  will  prevent  you  from  suffering, — go,  go  ;  and 
yet,  and  yet- " 

The  old  priest  became  thoughtful,  let  his  head  fall 
between  his  hands,  and  remained  silent  for  some 
moments;  then  he  continued: 

"  And  yet,  Jean,  do  you  know  what  I  think  ?  I 
have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mile.  Bettina  since  she  came 
to  Longueval.  Well,  when  I  reflect,  it  did  not  aston- 
ish me  then  that  anyone  should  be  interested  in  you, 
for  it  seemed  so  natural  ;  but  she  talked  always,  yes, 
always  of  you." 

*'  Of  me  }  " 

"  Yes,  of  you,  and  of  your  father  and  mother  ;  she 
was  curious  to  know  how  you  lived.  She  begged  me 
to  explain  to  her  what  a  soldier's  life  was,  the  life  of  a 
true  soldier  who  loved  his  profession,  and  performed 
his  duties  conscientiously. 

"  It  is  extraordinary ;  since  you  have  told  me  this, 
recollections  crowd  upon  me,  a  thousand  little  things 
collect  and  group  themselves  together.  They  re- 
turned from  Havre  yesterday  at  three  o'clock.  Well  ! 
an  hour  after  their  arrival  she  was  here  ;  and  it  was 
of  you  of  whom  she  spoke  directly.  She  asked  if  you 
had  written  to  me,  if  you  had  not  been  ill,  when  you 
would  arrive,  at  what  hour,  if  the  regiment  would  pass 
through  the  village." 

"  It  is  useless  at  this  moment,  my  dear  godfather," 
said  Jean,  "  to  recall  all  these  memop'^s." 


THE  ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN.  189 

**  No,  it  is  not  useless.  She  seemed  so  pleased,  so 
happy  even,  that  she  should  see  you  again  !  She 
would  make  quite  a  fete  of  the  dinner  this  evening. 
She  would  introduce  you  to  her  brother-in-law,  who 
has  come  back.  There  is  no  one  else  in  the  house  at 
this  moment,  not  a  single  visitor.  She  insisted  strongly 
on  this  point,  and  I  remember  her  last  words — she 
was  there,  on  the  threshold  of  the  door  : 

"'There  will  be  only  five  of  us,'  she  said — 'you 
and  M.  Jean,  my  sister,  my  brother-in-law,  and 
myself,' 

"And  then  she  added,  laughing:  'Quite  a  family 
party.' 

"With  these  words  she  went,  she  almost  ran  away. 
'Quite  a  family  party!  '  Do  you  know  what  I  tiiink, 
Jean  }     Do  you  know  ?  " 

"  You  must  not  think  that  ;  you  must  not." 

"  Jean,  I  believe  that  she  loves  you  !  " 

"  And  I  believe  it,  too." 

"  You  too  !  " 

"  When  I  left  her,  three  weeks  ago,  she  was  so 
agitated,  so  moved  !  She  saw  me  sad  and  unhappy  ; 
she  would  not  let  me  go.  It  was  at  the  door  of  the 
castle.  I  was  obliged  to  tear  myself — yes,  literally 
tear  myself — away.  I  should  have  spoken,  burst  out, 
told  her  all.  After  having  gone  a  few  steps  I  stopped 
and  turned.  She  could  no  longer  see  me,  I  was  lost 
in  the  darkness  ;  but  I  could  see  her.  She  stood  there 
motionless,  her  shoulders  and  arms  bare,  in  tlie  rain, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  way  by  which  I  had  gone.  Per- 
haps I  am  mad  to  think  that ;  perhaps  it  was  only  a 


190  THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIN. 

feeling  of  pity.  But  no,  it  was  something  more  than 
pity,  for  do  you  know  what  she  did  the  next  morning? 
She  came  at  five  o'clock  in  the  most  frightful  weather 
to  see  me  pass  with  the  regiment  ;  and  then — the 
way  she  bade  me  adieu — oh,  my  friend,  my  dear  old 
friend  !  " 

"  But  then,"  said  the  poor  cure,  completely  bewil- 
dered, completely  at  a  loss — "  but  tiien  I  do  not  under- 
stand you  at  all.  If  you  love  her,  Jean,  and  if  she 
loves  you " 

"  But  that  is,  above  all,  the  reason  why  1  must  go. 
If  it  were  only  I, — if  I  were  certain  that  she  has  not 
perceived  my  love,  certain  that  she  has  not  been 
touched  by  it, — I  would  stay,  I  would  stay,  for  nothing 
but  for  the  sweet  joy  of  seeing  her  ;  and  I  would  love 
her  from  afar,  without  any  hope,  for  nothing  but  the 
happiness  of  loving  her.  But  no,  she  has  understood 
too  well,  and  far  from  discouraging  me — that  is  what 
forces  me  to  go." 

"  No.  I  do  not  understand  it  !  I  know  well,  my 
poor  boy,  we  are  speaking  of  things  in  which  I  am  no 
great  scholar;  but  you  are  both  good,  young,  and 
charming.  You  love  her,  she  would  love  you  ;  and 
you  will  not  !  " 

"  And  her  money  !  her  money  !  " 

"  What  matters  her  money  .^  If  it  is^only  that,  is  it 
because  of  her  money  that  you  have  loved  her?  It  is 
rather  in  spite  of  her  money.  Your  conscience,  my 
son,  would  be  quite  at  peace  with  regard  to  that,  and 
that  would  suffice." 

"  No,    that   would    not    suffice.     To    have   a   good 


THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN.  191 

opinion  of  one's  self  is  not  enough  ;  that  opinion  must 
be  shared  by  others." 

"  Oh,  Jean  !  Among  all  who  know  you,  who  can 
doubt  you  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  ?  And  then  there  is  another  thing 
besides  this  question  of  money,  another  thing  more 
serious  and  more  grave.  I  am  not  the  husband 
suited  to  her." 

"  And  who  could  be  more  worthy  than  you  ?  " 

"  The  question  to  be  considered  is  not  my  worth  ; 
we  have  to  consider  what  she  is  and  w^hat  I  am,  to 
ask  what  ought  to  be  her  life,  and  what  ought  to  be 
my  life. 

"  One  day  Paul — you  know  he  has  rather  a  blunt 
way  of  saying  things  ;  but  that  very  bluntness  often 
places  thoughts  much  more  clearly  before  us — we 
were  speaking  of  her,  Paul  did  not  suspect  anything; 
if  he  had,  he  is  good-natured,  he  would  not  have 
spoken  thus.     Well  !  he  said  to  me  : 

"  '  What  she  needs  is  a  husband  who  w^ould  be 
entn-ely  devoted  to  her,  to  her  alone — a  husband  who 
would  have  no  other  care  than  to  make  her  existence 
a  perpetual  holiday  ;  a  husband  who  would  give  him- 
self, his  whole  life,  in  return  for  her  money.' 

"  You  know  me  ;  such  a  husband  I  cannot,  I  Jiuist 
not  be.  I  am  a  soldier,  and  will  remain  one.  If  the 
chances  of  my  career  sent  me  some  day  to  a  garrison 
in  the  depths  of  the  Alps,  or  in  some  almost  unknown 
village  in  Algeria,  could  I  ask  her  to  follow  me  } 
Could  I  condemn  her  to  the  life  of  a  soldier's  wife, 
which  is  in  some  desfree  the  life  of  a  soldier  himself? 


192  THE   ABBE    COXSTAiYTIX. 

Think  of  the  hfe  which  she  leads  now,  of  all  that 
luxury,  of  all  those  pleasures  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  abbe  ;  "  that  is  more  serious  than 
the  question  of  money." 

"  So  serious  that  there  is  no  hesitation  possible. 
During  the  three  weeks  that  I  passed  alone  in  the 
camp  I  have  well  considered  all  that.  I  have  thought 
of  nothing  else ;  and,  loving  her  as  I  do  love,  the  reason 
must  indeed  be  strong  which  shows  me  clearly  my 
duty.  I  must  go.  I  must  go  far,  very  far  away,  as 
far  as  possible.  I  shall  suffer  much  ;  but  I  must  not 
see  her  again  !  I  must  not  see  her  again  !  " 

Jean  sank  on  a  chair  near  the  fireplace.  He 
remained  there  quite  overpowered  with  his  emotion. 
The  old  priest  looked  at  him. 

"  To  see  you  suffer,  my  poor  boy !  That  such  suf- 
fering should  fall  upon  you !  It  is  too  cruel,  too 
unjust !  " 

At  that  moment  someone  knocked  gently  at  the 
door. 

"Ah!"  said  the  cure,  "  do  not  be  afraid,  Jean.  I 
will  send  them  away." 

The  abbe  went  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  recoiled 
as  if  before  an  unexpected  apparition. 

It  was  Bettina.  In  a  moment  she  had  seen  Jean, 
and  going  directly  to  him,  "  You  !  "  cried  she.     "  Oh, 


am 


how  glad  I 

He  rose.  She  took  his  hands,  and,  addressing  the 
cure,  she  said  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  M.  le  Cure,  for  going  to  him 
first.     You   I  saw  yesterday,  and    him  not   for  three 


THE  ABBE   CONSTANTIN'.  193 

whole  weeks— not  since  a  certain  night  when  he  left 
our  house,  sad  and  suffering." 

She  still  held  Jean's  hands.  He  had  neither  power 
to  make  a  movement  nor  to  utter  a  souiid. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Bettina,  "  are  you  better  ? 
No,  not  yet,  I  can  see — still  sad.  Ah,  I  have  done 
well  to  come  !  It  was  an  inspiration  !  However,  it 
embarrasses  me  a  little,  it  embarrasses  me  a  great 
deal,  to  find  you  here.  You  will  understand  why 
when  you  know  what  I  have  come  to  ask  of  your 
godfather." 

She  relinquished  his  hands,  and,  turning  toward  the 
abbe,  said  : 

"  I  have  come  to  beg  you  to  listen  to  my  confession, 
— yes,  my  confession.  But  do  not  go  away,  M.  Jean; 
I  will  make  my  confession  publicly.  I  am  cjuite  will- 
ing to  speak  before  you  ;  and  now  I  think  of  it,  it 
will  be  better  thus.     Let  us  sit  down,  shall  we?" 

Slie  felt  herself  full  of  confidence  and  daring.  She 
burned  with  fever,  but  with  that  fever  which,  on  the 
field  of  battle,  gives  to  a  soldier  ardor,  heroism,  and 
disdain  of  danger.  The  emotion  which  made  Bet- 
tina's  heart  beat  quicker  than  usual  was  a  high  and 
generous  emotion.     She  said  to  herself  : 

"  I  will  be  loved  !  I  will  love  !  1  will  be  happy ! 
I  will  make  him  happy  !  And  since  he  cannot  have 
the  courage  to  do  it,  I  must  have  it  for  both.  I  must 
march  alone,  my  head  high,  and  my  heart  at  ease,  to 
the  conquest  of  our  love,  to  the  conquest  of  our 
happiness  !  " 

From  her  first  words  Bettina  had   grained  over  the 


194  THE  ABBE    CONSTANTIN. 

abbe  and  Jean  a  complete  ascendancy.  They  let  her 
say  what  she  liked  ;  they  let  her  do  as  she  liked. 
They  felt  that  the  hour  was  supreme;  they  under- 
stood that  what  was  happening  would  be  decisive, 
irrevocable,  but  neither  was  in  a  position  to  foresee. 

They  sat  down  obediently,  almost  automatically  ; 
they  waited  ;  they  listened.  Alone  of  the  three  Bet- 
tina  retained  her  composure.  It  was  in  a  calm  and 
even  voice  that  she  began  : 

"  I  must  tell  you  first,  M,  le  Cure,  to  set  your  con- 
science quite  at  rest — I  must  tell  you  that  I  am  here 
with  the  consent  of  my  sister  and  my  brother-in-law. 
They  know  why  I  have  come  ;  they  know  what  I  am 
going  to  do.  They  not  only  know,  but  they  approve. 
That  is  settled,  is  it  not  }  Well,  what  brings  me  here 
is  your  letter,  M.  Jean — that  letter  in  which  you  tell 
my  sister  that  you  cannot  diite  with  us  this  evening, 
and  that  you  are  positively  obhged  to  leave  here.  This 
letter  has  unsettled  all  my  plans.  I  had  intended  this 
evening,— of  course  with  the  permission  of  my  sister 
and  brother-in-law, — I  had  intended  after  dinner  to 
take  you  into  the  park  ;  to  seat  myself  with  you  on  a 
bench.  I  was  ciiildish  enough  to  choose  the  place 
beforehand.  There  I  should  have  delivered  a  little 
speech,  well  prepared,  well  studied,  almost  learned  by 
heart,  for  since  your  departure  I  have  scarcely  thought 
of  anything  else;  I  repeat  it  to  myself  from  morning 
to  night.  That  is  what  I  had  proposed  to  do  ;  and 
you  understand  that  your  letter  caused  me  much 
embarrassment.  I  refiected  a  little,  and  thought  that 
if  I  addressed  my   little  speech    to  your  godfather  it 


THE   ABBE   COiVSTANTIiV.  195 

would  be  almost  the  same  as  if  I  addressed  it  to 
you.  So  I  have  come,  M.  le  Cure,  to  beg  you  to 
listen  to  me." 

"  I  will  listen  to  you,  xMiss  Percival,"  stammered 
the  abbe. 

"  I  am  rich,  AI.  le  Cure,  I  am  very  rich  ;  and  to 
speak  frankly  I  love  my  wealth  very  much — yes,  very 
much.  To  it  I  owe  the  luxury  which  surrounds  me — 
luxury  which,  I  acknowledge  (it  is  a  confession),  is  by 
no  means  disagreeable  to  me.  My  excuse  is  that  I 
am  still  very  young  ;  it  will  perhaps  pass  as  I  grow 
older,  but  of  that  I  am  not  very  sure.  I  have  another 
excuse  ;  it  is  tiiat  if  I  love  money  a  little  for  the 
pleasure  that  it  procures  me,  I  love  it  still  more  for 
the  good  which  it  allows  me  to  do.  I  love  it — self- 
ishly, if  you  like — for  the  joy  of  giving  ;  but  I  think 
that  my  fortune  is  not  very  badly  placed  in  my  hands. 
Well,  M.  le  Cure,  in  the  same  way  that  you  have  the 
care  of  souls  it  seems  that  I  have  the  care  of  money. 
I  have  always  thought  :  '  I  wish,  above  all  things, 
that  my  husband  should  be  worthy  of  sliaring  this 
great  fortune.  I  wish  to  be  very  sure  that  he  will 
make  a  good  use  of  it  with  me  while  I  am  here,  and 
after  me  if  I  must  leave  this  world  first.'  I  thought 
of  another  thing  ;  I  thought :  '  He  who  will  be  my 
husband  must  be  some  one  I  can  love  ! '  And  now, 
M.  le  Cure,  this  is  where  mv  confession  really  begins. 
There  is  a  man  who  for  the  last  two  months  has  clone 
all  he  can  to  conceal  from  me  that  he  loves  me  ;  but 
I  do  not  doubt  that  this  man  loves  me.  You  do  love 
me,  Jean  ?  " 


196  THE   ABBE    CO. V  STAN  TIN. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean  in  a  low  voice,  his  eyes  cast 
down,  looking  like  a  criminal,  "  I  do  love  you  !  " 

"  I  know  it  very  well,  but  I  wanted  to  hear  you  say 
it ;  and  now,  I  entreat  you,  do  not  utter  a  single  word. 
Any  words  of  yours  would  be  useless,  would  disturb 
me,  would  prevent  me  from  going  straight  to  my  aim, 
and  telling  you  what  I  positively  intend  to  say. 
Promise  me  to  stay  there,  sitting  still,  without  moving, 
without  speaking.     You  promise  me  ?  " 

"  I  promise  you." 

Bettina,  as  she  went  on  speaking,  began  to  lose  a 
little  of  her  confidence;  her  voice  trembled  slightly. 
She  continued,  however,  with  a  gayety  that  was  a 
little  forced. 

"  M.  le  Cure,  I  do  not  blame  you  for  what  has  hap- 
pened, yet  all  this  is  a  little  your  fault." 

"  My  fault  !  " 

"  Ah  !  do  not  speak,  not  even  you.  Yes,  I  repeat  it, 
your  fault.  I  am  certain  that  you  have  spoken  well 
of  me  to  Jean,  much  too  well.     Perhaps  without  that 

he  would  not  have  thought And  at  the  same  time 

you  have  spoken  very  well  of  him  to  me.  Not  too 
well,— no,  no! — but  yet  very  well!  Then  I  had  so 
much  confidence  in  you  that  I  began  to  look  at  him  and 
examine  him  with  a  little  more  attention.  I  began  to 
compare  him  with  those  who  during  the  last  year  had 
asked  my  hand.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  in 
every  respect  superior  to  them. 

"  At  last  it  happened  on  a  certain  day,  or  rather  on 
a  certain  evening — three  weeks  ago,  the  evening  before 
you    left  here,  Jean — I  discovered    that  I  loved   you. 


THE   ABBE    CONSTANTIN.  197 

Yes,  Jean,  I  love  you  !  I  entreat  you,  do  not  speak. 
Stay  where  you  are ;  do  not  come  near  me. 

"  Before  I  came  here  I  thought  I  had  su'pphed  my- 
self with  a  good  stock  of  courage,  but  you  see  I  have 
no  longer  my  fine  composure  of  a  minute  ago.  But  I 
have  still  something  to  tell  you,  and  the  most  impor- 
tant of  all.  Jean,  listen  to  me  well  :  I  do  not  wish  for 
a  reply  torn  from  your  emotion  ;  I  know  that  you  love 
me.  If  you  marry  me,  I  do  not  wish  it  to  be  only  for 
love  ;  I  wish  it  to  be  also  for  reason.  During  the 
fortnight  before  you  left  here  you  took  so  much  pains 
to  avoid  me,  to  escape  any  conversation,  that  I  have 
not  been  able  to  show  myself  to  you  as  I  am.  Per- 
haps there  are  in  me  certain  qualities  which  you  do 
not  suspect. 

"Jean,  I  know  what  you  are,  I  know  to  what  I 
should  bind  myself  in  marrying  you  ;  and  I  would  be 
for  you  not  only  the  loving  and  tender  woman,  but  the 
courageous  and  constant  wife.  I  know  your  entire  life  : 
your  godfather  has  related  it  to  me.  I  know  why  you 
became  a  soldier  ;  I  know  what  duties,  what  sacrifices, 
the  future  may  demand  from  you.  Jean,  do  not  sup- 
pose that  I  will  turn  you  from  any  of  these  duties, 
from  any  of  these  sacrifices.  If  I  could  be  disap- 
pointed with  you  for  anything,  it  would  be  perhaps 
for  this  thought, — oh  !  you  must  have  had  it, — that  I 
should  wish  you  free  and  quite  my  own,  that  I  should 
ask  you  to  abandon  your  career.  Never !  never ! 
Understand  well,  I  will  never  ask  such  a  thing  of  you. 

"  A  young  girl  whom  I  know  did  that  when  she 
married,  and  she  did  wrong.     I  love  you,  and  I  wish 


198  THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIN. 

you  to  be  just  what  you  are.  It  is  because  you  live 
differently  from,  and  better  than,  those  who  have 
before  desired  me  for  a  wife  that  I  desire  you  for  a 
husband.  I  should  love  you  less — perhaps  I  should 
not  love  you  at  all,  though  that  would  be  very  difficult 
— if  you  were  to  begin  to  live  as  all  those  live  whom  I 
would  not  have.  When  I  can  follow  you,  I  will  follow 
you.  Wherever  you  are  will  be  my  duty  ;  wherever 
you  are  will  be  my  happiness.  And  if  the  day  comes 
when  you  cannot  take  me,  the  day  when  you  must  go 
alone,  well,  Jean,  on  that  day  I  promise  you  to  be 
brave,  and  not  take  your  courage  from  you. 

"And  now,  ]\I.  le  Cure,  it  is  not  to  him,  it  is  to 
you,  tiiat  I  am  speaking;  I  want  j(?/if  to  answer  me, 
not  him.  Tell  me,  if  he  loves  me,  and  feels  me  worthy 
of  his  love,  would  it  be  just  to  make  me  expiate  so 
severely  the  fortune  that  I  possess  .''  Tell  me,  should 
he  not  agree  to  be  my  husband.^  " 

"Jean,"  said  the  old  priest  gravely,  "marry  her. 
It  is  your  duty  and  it  will  be  your  happiness  !  " 

Jean  approached  Bettina,  took  her  in  his  arms,  and 
pressed  upon  her  brow  the  first  kiss. 

Bettina  gently  freed  herself,  and,  addressing  the 
abbe,  said  : 

"  And  now,  M.  I'Abbe,  I  have  still  one  thing  to  ask 
you.     I  wish — I  wish " 

"  You  wish  ?  " 

"  Pray,  M.  le  Cure,  embrace  me,  too." 

The  old  priest  kissed  her  paternally  on  both  cheeks, 
and  then  Bettina  continued  : 

"  You  have   often   told  me,  M.  le   Cure,  that  Jean 


THE   ABBE    CON  STAN  TIiV. 


201 


was  almost  like  your  own  son  ;  and  I  shall  be  almost 
like  your  own  daughter,  shall  I  not  ?  So  you  will 
have  two  children,  that  is  all." 

A  month  after,  on  the  12th  of  September,  at  mid-day, 


Bettina,  in  the  simplest  of  wedding-dresses,  entered 
the  church  of  Longueval,  while,  placed  behind  the 
altar,  the  trumpets  of  the  Ninth  Artillery  rang  joy- 
ously through  the  arches  of  the  old  church. 


202  THE    ABBE    COiX  STAN  TEW 

Nancy  Turner  had  begged  for  the  honor  of  playing 
the  organ  on  this  solemn  occasion,  for  the  poor  little 
harmonium  had  disappeared.  An  organ  with  resplen- 
dent pipes  rose  in  the  gallery  of  the  church  ;  it  was 
Miss  Percival's  wedding  present  to  the  Abbe  Con- 
stantin. 

Tiie  old  cure  said  mass  ;  Jean  and  Bettina  knelt 
before  him.  He  pronounced  the  benediction  and  then 
remained  for  some  moments  in  prayer,  his  aims  ex- 
tended, calling  down  with  his  whole  soul  the  blessings 
of  Heaven  on  his  two  children. 

Then  floated  from  the  organ  the  same  revery  of 
Chopin's  which  Bettina  had  played  the  first  time  that 
she  had  entered  that  little  village  church  where  was  to 
be  consecrated  the  happiness  of  her  life. 

And  this  lime  it  was  Bettina  who  wept. 


THE    END. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


B     000  016  534     0 


